


So Far In A Few Blocks

by PhillyStrega



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bakery, Family Drama, M/M, some talk of homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-02-06
Packaged: 2019-02-26 02:56:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 45,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13226682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhillyStrega/pseuds/PhillyStrega
Summary: “See anything you like?”The guy who’d been charming Amaro now seems to have focused his energies on Rafael. He’s draped himself along the top of the pastry case, long arms crossed and fingers tapping at the glass. Even with the smattering of gray at his temples he looks too young and too self assured. Embroidery on the breast of the pale pink apron he wears over his dark blue button up announces him as ‘Sonny.’ Which. Yes, that fits.“Just looking,” Rafael quips. “I’ll take a coffee if you sell any to go with your small mountains of sugar.”Sonny looks concerned and then says, “this is a bakery,” like he’s seriously thinking Rafael somehow missed that. “Sugar is kind of our thing.”An AU where Sonny runs his family's bakery and neither he nor Barba are very good at letting themselves have what they want. Maybe they can figure that one out together.





	1. Rafael

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bitelikefire (theoleo)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theoleo/gifts).



> Title is from St. Vincent’s “New York.” Cause I dare you to listen to “you’re the only mother fucker in the city who can stand me” and not think of Rafael Barba. 
> 
> For Lammii who cheered on this thing from the beginning and read every iteration of it, THANK YOU FRIEND.
> 
> Translations anywhere Spanish or Italian appears are in the end notes.
> 
> This is finished, although the final part is an unholy mess. My goal is to have all four parts up by the end of the week.

“Mind if we stop for a coffee real quick?”

Rafael glances up from his phone to shrug at Amaro. “Not unless you plan on stopping at a Starbucks.”

Amaro looks unimpressed. “Picky about your coffee, Counselor?”

“Sometimes,” Rafael says, because it’s the simplest answer. The truest answer is that while he _can_ be particular about his coffee he often isn’t, out of necessity. He has favorite cafes along familiar routes from his home to his office, from his office to the courthouse, from his office to his mother’s apartment (where the cost of a coffee is two dollars and Mrs. Perez clucking at him that he needs to eat more). If given the time, he prefers any one of those places to supply him with caffeine, but his job isn’t big on rewarding him with spare time and only an idiot turns down even subpar to abysmal coffee when the alternative is no coffee at all. 

The bakery Amaro leads him to is not one Rafael recognizes. They’re on their way from Manhattan SVU to the courthouse for trial prep. Rafael _had_ felt reasonably assured he knew all the coffee places along this route, but...no, this one is new. He frowns at the cheerful white awning of the bakery with its loopy golden letters announcing it as “Carisi’s.”

Inside, Amaro is doing a handshake, back-slap thing across a low pastry case with a man Barba feels comfortable assuming works at the bakery judging by the amount of flour on his hands alone. He’s tall and very enthusiastic if the volume of his greeting to Amaro is any indication. 

“Officer Amaro! Haven’t seen you in a bit. How you doing?”

Amaro looks sheepish but also can’t wipe the grin off his face. “I’m officially Detective Amaro again.” 

“Aw, man, that’s great, good for you.” He sounds genuinely happy for Amaro, which is a little weird, since Rafael suspects he has only known Amaro a handful of months if this bakery was part of the detective-officer-detective’s beat.

Rafael’s approach towards the pastry case goes unnoticed by the two men. That’s more than fine by him since he’s way more interested in what’s in the case than the weird small town moment they’re acting out. 

The fare is notably Italian, which Rafael probably should have expected from the man’s accent, the name of the bakery, and the abundance of red, white and green he now spies in decorative flourishes around the bakery. A handmade sign someone had laminated announces that cannoli is filled upon order, and a small variety of fried shells are arranged in a haphazard pyramid beside it. Shortbread cookies dusted in powdered sugar, a confection Rafael strongly suspects every major ethnicity has laid claim to, sits alongside pizzelle, biscotti, and amaretti. 

“See anything you like?”

The guy who’d been charming Amaro now seems to have focused his energies on Rafael. He’s draped himself along the top of the pastry case, long arms crossed and fingers tapping at the glass. Even with the smattering of gray at his temples he looks too young and too self assured. Embroidery on the breast of the pale pink apron he wears over his dark blue button up announces him as ‘Sonny.’ Which. Yes, that fits. 

“Just looking,” Rafael quips. “I’ll take a coffee if you sell any to go with your small mountains of sugar.”

Sonny looks concerned and then says, “this is a bakery,” like he’s seriously thinking Rafael somehow missed that. “Sugar is kind of our thing.” He flaps a hand at Rafael in frenetic reassurance. “Coffee totally is too, though.”

“Right.” He refuses to engage further in whatever this is even if he, arguably, started it. “An americano,” he orders. “If you can manage it.”

“In my sleep,” Sonny assures him with an earnestness Rafael can hardly believe exists. “What about you, Detective?”

Amaro looks altogether too amused with the both of them. “Same,” he says, smiling at Rafael like he _knows_ something now, and that is not a smile Rafael likes to see on anyone, let alone one of the detectives he works with. “With sugar, if you got it.”

“Like I said, it’s kind of our thing.” He actually winks at them and Rafael is tempted to leave and find coffee somewhere that won’t accost him with dimpled men. 

He doesn’t leave, though. Instead, he stays and watches as Sonny steps back from the pastry case to where a large silver espresso machine sits on a back counter. Rafael doesn’t even realize he’s still watching Sonny until Sonny looks up, meets Rafael’s gaze, and smirks. 

Rafael doesn’t often feel at a loss for what to say but he fumbles for something distracting to bring up and eventually settles on saying to Nick, “Wouldn’t have pegged you for a sugar in coffee kinda guy.”

Amaro snorts, unimpressed by Rafael’s attempt at changing the conversation. Still, he plays along, and Rafael is temporarily thankful. “It happens when you raise kids on cuban coffee. You know.” 

“I do.”

“If I close my eyes and concentrate real, real hard it’s almost like my abuela’s,” Amaro says. 

Rafael lets out a small laugh of disbelief and hums, “Dios te oye mentir.”1

“Yeah, yeah.” Amaro shakes his head. “Let me guess, nothing but black for you.”

Rafael’s gaze drifts over to Sonny again, to where he’s tamping down espresso for a final double shot. “Not always. But often.”

“How’s that stomach ulcer of yours?”

“Thriving,” he says flatly. 

Sonny walks up to the counter that sits beside the pastry case and sets two small to-go cups next to the cash register. “Here you go. Two americanos for New York’s finest.”

Rafael stops mid-reach for his americano to arch an eyebrow up at Sonny. Amaro practically cackles and Rafael’s not sure how he’s supposed to take that. 

“I’m not a cop,” Rafael responds, since Amaro is laughing too hard to help. 

Sonny blatantly runs his eyes up and down Rafael’s body, taking in his three piece pinstripe brown suit, his dark purple dress shirt, his pale paisley tie. He nods like, yeah, that makes sense. “I did wonder, with the, you know.” He gestures vaguely to all of Rafael, who rolls his eyes. 

“Only mildly insulting, thank you.” He jerks back into motion and picks up his americano. 

Rafael doesn’t elaborate any further but fortunately, or unfortunately, Amaro recovers from his giggle fit. “Barba’s an assistant district attorney.”

Sonny blinks at them with overly wide eyes. “Oh no kidding?” Rafael is beginning to suspect Sonny is playing them, if the twitch of his mouth is any indication. “That still counts, yeah? You’re both working towards the same cause, justice, peace, all that.” He winks again, of all things, and now Rafael knows Sonny is playing them.

“Yes.” Rafael says slowly. “All that.” He digs his wallet out of his pocket only for Sonny to wave him off. 

“Nah, it’s on the house. In fact…” Sonny roots around in the pastry case and with a flourish slips something into a paper bag he then holds out for Rafael. “Just in case you wanna buy your stomach a little more time before that ulcer. You know.”

Politeness demands Rafael take the bag even as he says, “I shouldn’t.”

“I insist,” Sonny says and he nods as if to say that’s that. 

Amaro clears his throat. “No free pastry for me?”

Sonny’s eyes dart over to Amaro and his ears go a bit red even as he gestures from himself to Amaro and back again. “Have I ever charged you for coffee, ever? Take that blessing and be happy with it, Detective.” 

“Alright then, Carisi,” Amaro says, shaking his head--at either Sonny or Rafael or both of them, Rafael can’t be sure. “See you around.”

“Yeah, don’t be a stranger now just cause you’re off the beat,” he calls, nodding at Amaro. He fixes Rafael with a wide grin. “Goes for you too, Counselor.”

“Oh joy,” Rafael says and he turns away before he has to see Sonny laugh or dimple or wink or something equally befuddling. He follows Amaro out the door and tries to ignore his accusatory and amused look. 

“That was interesting,” Rafael says finally. 

Amaro laughs, shaking his head. “Yeah. Sonny’s a lot, but. Free cup of coffee’s nothing to sneeze at.” He nods down at where Rafael’s clutching the pastry bag alongside his briefcase. “And free pastry. Just for you.”

“Let’s not read into that,” Rafael says firmly and goes back to ignoring Amaro and his smug side eye the rest of their walk to court. 

As is usually the case, the minute Rafael steps into the courthouse things get hectic. He stashes away the pastry bag and promptly forgets about it. 

He finds it again much later, when he’s back in his office. He thinks about throwing it away, but even hours-old pastry is still pastry and he hasn’t had anything substantial to eat in hours. The odds of him making it home anytime soon aren’t great, either. 

Miraculously, the pastry is still good. He doesn’t recognize it and feels foolish even thinking about googling it, but whatever it is, it’s good. Layer upon layer of flaky puff pastry with sweet cream in the center, likely ricotta, as Rafael strongly suspects Italians of sneaking it into everything. It’s annoyingly good. Sweet but not too sweet, crisp and indulgent. It’s gone before Rafael is even really aware he’s eating the whole thing. All that’s left are a few flakes of pastry and dustings of powdered sugar. He sweeps it away and along with it, all thoughts of floppy haired, exuberant bakers. 

*

Rafael has absolutely no intention of revisiting the bakery. The coffee, the pastry, and the baker’s smile had been good, but they hadn’t been _that_ good for christ’s sake. He takes a wrong turn, is all, deviating from his usual route from the station to the courthouse and he winds up walking right past the bakery. He finds himself stopping just past its door. 

It’s been about a week since his initial visit to the bakery and work is going to hell in a special way that means he’ll be lucky if he gets anything better than breakroom drip and tums for the rest of the day. He hadn’t planned this, and dipping a toe in the double temptation pool of sugar and a smiley guy too young for him isn’t the wisest choice--but. The day really is going to hell. 

He spins on his heel before he wastes any more time over-thinking this and walks inside. 

This time, the bakery isn’t empty of other customers. An elderly couple are standing in  
front of the register, finishing up their order with someone who is notably not Sonny. She’s lanky and blond though and Rafael hears the aggressive Staten Island running through her voice and guesses she’s likely a relative of some sort. 

She hands change back to the couple before redirecting her attention to Rafael. “Can I help you?”

“An americano, please,” Rafael says. He spies the same pastry he’d been given by Sonny in the corner of the case and quickly adds, “And one of the...that one.” He taps his finger on the glass. 

“Sfogliatella,” she supplies for him. “No problem. One sec.” She walks past the prep counter and the espresso machine to lean through a doorway Barba assumes leads to a kitchen or back room. “Sonny! I need you on the espresso machine!”

Sonny walks through the doorway and flashes an annoyed look at the other employee. “Are you freaking kidding me, Bella? How you gonna learn to use the thing if you refuse to touch it?”

Bella replies via a dismissive snort. “Do I even have to learn? You work it just fine. Besides, the thing hates me, I think it’s possessed.”

“Oh, yeah, you cracked it,” Sonny says, voice heavy with sarcasm. “Zia Concetta’s clearly haunting the thing and she never did like you.”

Bella squawks that no Zia Concetta never _did_ like her and then finally gestures at Rafael. “Just make the guy an americano, already.” 

Sonny brightens at seeing Rafael, who does his best not to react at all. “Hey! Counselor. Nice seeing you again. You doing good?”

“I’d be better with an americano,” he replies. 

“Yeah, sorry, let me get that started for you.” He exchanges some looks with Bella, who finally just rolls her eyes and moves back behind the cash register to tap at her phone. Sonny walks to the espresso machine and flips a paper cup in his hand once before tilting it in Rafael’s direction. “Hey, ah, you mind if I try something?”

Rafael suddenly regrets ever stopping, turning around, and coming into this place. “Please don’t poison my coffee.”

“Nah, nothing like that,” Sonny says, and he laughs like Rafael isn’t serious, which, for the record, he is. “I just looked some stuff up after the last time you came in and...look. If you hate it, I’ll personally deliver an americano to your office, how’s that?” He’s starting to prep things at the bar and shrugs at Rafael. “Win, win, right?”

“I’d give security your name, you’d never make it past the metal detectors.” Sonny just laughs again. “Fine, but if it’s decaf, the next angry spirit to haunt your espresso machine will be me.”

Bella pipes up then and says, “You joke, but I’m buying holy water.” 

“That’d only succeed in burning you, when’s the last time you went to mass?” Sonny scoffs and snaps his fingers at the pastry case. “Get the man his pastry.”

Rafael watches Bella collect his pastry with a few notable glares at Sonny. “How do you know I ordered anything?” 

“After I gave you a taste for free?” He’s cocky now, and it’s unearned if you ask Rafael, considering how downright cheesy he’s being. “You bought something.” He starts grinding espresso beans then, and Rafael is spared having to answer that or admitting that, yes, he did buy something. 

He collects his pastry from Bella, who’s giving him a new look now, one that’s intrigued and mildly entertained. He definitely isn’t coming back here again, somehow he’s managed to become an unwitting guest star in a family sitcom.

While Sonny prepares his drink, Rafael takes the time to look around the bakery, something he barely had the opportunity to do the last time he visited. The place is cheerfully decorated with an abundance of family photos and large prints of Italian movie posters. Alongside 8 ½ and The Bicycle Thief is a corkboard with children’s drawings from “Mrs. Carisi’s 2nd Grade Class.” It isn’t a big place, the bakery, but a few small cafe tables fit by the bay window near the door with chairs for people who want to linger and finish their coffee and pastry at the shop. Its cute, really. Almost too cute. Rafael isn’t entirely sure how he feels about any of it. 

“Here ya go, Counselor,” Sonny announces cheerfully. He deposits the to go cup on the counter with a small flourish and only the slight hitch in his smile betrays any nervousness. 

Rafael steps closer and slowly reaches out to pick up the cup. There isn’t a lid on the cup and peering down inside it looks like it’s filled with, well, coffee. It has foam of some kind on top that Rafael can just make out, dark and inviting. He blinks at the drink. It looks an awful lot like something very personal and very familiar, but he decides to just try it to be sure. 

After he tastes it, he looks up at Sonny and can’t keep the surprise from his face and voice. “This is cuban coffee.”

Sonny goes all sheepish, rubbing at the back of his neck and shrugging. “I heard you and Detective Amaro mention it. I haven’t made one in forever but I looked it up and, well.” He waves at the coffee in Rafael’s hand. “Is it okay? I mean. As okay as a paisan making cuban coffee can do.”

“Shut up,” Rafael says and he quickly stuffs a ten dollar bill in the large coffee can in front of the cash register that has “tips” scrawled on the side. 

“I think that means he likes it,” Bella stage-whispers to Sonny, who beams at Rafael. 

“It’s almost half as good as my abuela used to make it,” Rafael says. He’s aiming for snarky but it comes out just a little too honest and Sonny can tell, if the soft, pleased way he looks down and away is any indication. 

“Shit, Counselor,” he says, his voice going all round and syrupy. “High praise indeed.”

Sonny’s grinning and Barba feels an ache in his chest like his sternum has cracked underneath the weight of Sonny looking at him. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

*

Rafael massages at his own temples, a futile attempt to keep a cluster headache at bay. “Explain to me,” he instructs a waiting Rollins and Benson, “how the chain of evidence got this twisty.”

Rollins raises an eyebrow. “Twisty?”

“Do you have another word for this?” Rafael gestures at the papers on his desk that outline exactly how DNA evidence took a tour of the five boroughs. 

“Not one I feel comfortable using in polite company,” Rollins says, all Southern accent and sweetness. 

Benson heaves out a sigh, an indication she thinks they’re both being ridiculous, not that it’ll stop either of them. “CSU had a mix up. Transported our evidence to the wrong precinct.”

“And after that?” Because a simple delivery mix up doesn’t explain the roundabout way the evidence made its way back to Manhattan SVU. 

“I’ll spare you the slapstick details,” Benson says, deadpan. 

Rollins shrugs. “The guy who screwed up has been on the job fifteen years.” She scrunches her face up like she knows that information won’t help any, but she’s gotta mention it anyway. “I don’t think he did it on purpose.”

“He could be a literal carebear and it wouldn’t matter,” Rafael snaps and Rollins puts up her hands, conceding the point. “The DNA on the clothes are out.”

“Rollins, you and Fin head back to the crime scene,” Benson instructs. “See if there’s anything we can use.”

“Got it,” Rollins chirps and looks slightly relieved to be leaving. 

Rafael sits down heavily in his chair and shoves the papers detailing the misadventures of the now tainted evidence to the side of his desk. Benson takes a seat across from him and holds up her purse, gesturing with it as she says, “Cookie? I got a few in my bag.”

Rafael snorts. “I’m not your toddler, Liv, I don’t need to be purchased out of a bad mood with snacks.”

“That’s not a no,” she says. 

“No. Thank you.” He sighs and tips his head back against his chair. “I already indulged today.”

“If any day calls for multiple indulgences...” Rafael snorts in agreement. 

“Isn’t that how indulgences become an addiction?” Rafael muses, his gaze sliding down from the ceiling of his office so he can cock an eyebrow at Liv. He can’t help but think back to lanky bakers with accents that have no business being as attractive as they are. 

“You’re doing some pretty hard thinking about a cookie,” Benson says in the dry tone she tends to reserve for when Rafael is being too clever by half.

“Am I?”

“You’re not usually one for denying yourself anything,” Benson says knowingly. “Yacht trips, broadway shows, nice suits.”

She’s not wrong, and for the most part Rafael doesn’t feel guilty about partaking in any of those things. He’s worked hard to be able to afford his nice apartment, his bespoke suits. The yacht trips, the parties brushing elbows with New York elite, the most in-demand of broadway tickets--all flash and little substance. 

“You make me sound shallow,” he says. 

“Not you, but maybe some of your favorite past times,” Benson says. She squints at him knowingly. “Is that the problem? Whatever it is you’re worried about...it has depth. Meaning.”

Rafael feels cornered now and he doesn’t like it. “Don’t interrogate me, Liv.”

“I wasn’t. I was gently--”

“Interrogating.” He stares at her until she relents with an apologetic nod. 

“Okay. Yes. But as a friend,” she says sincerely. Rafael’s not sure how much better that makes it but also knows she does mean well and want the best for him. “If it helps any, I think you’re worrying too much.”

“I’ll take that under advisement,” Rafael says and Benson doesn’t look like she believes him, which is fair. He’s feeling smashed flat under the weight of a lot of (perhaps misplaced) guilt and like a good lapsed Catholic, he’s making no move to free himself. 

Benson collects her bag and a couple files and stands to make her exit. “It’s not always bad to need something, Rafael. Or someone.”

He’s not entirely sure he agrees, but feels that saying so would peel back a layer of himself he’s not ready to show, possibly not to anyone, definitely not here and now. His experience with needing people has been a bit of a mixed bag, the great and the good inevitably spoiled by disappointment and abuse. 

“Good night, Sergeant,” he says, not-unfriendly as he effectively dismisses her. Benson just nods at him, like she understands. He avoids her eyes as she leaves, still trying to shake the lingering feeling of being _seen_ and pulls a file on his desk closer to him, thinking sad, wistful thoughts about cuban coffee.

*

Rafael hasn’t been this drunk in a while, but he also hasn’t seen a case implode quite the way today’s did in a while, either. He maybe should have seen the chain of evidence catastrophe as the sign that it clearly was. For all his talent though, and he has quite a lot, he hasn’t managed to develop the ability to see into the future,and hindsight is 20/20 and even the great Rafael Barba has a screw up every once and awhile, etc etc. 

Drinking seemed to be the best response he could come up with for what happened to the case. Liv had joined him in the beginning, but she left as the dinner crowd began to rush into Forlini’s to go relieve her sitter. Barba had considered either texting Rita, whose merciless mocking might just be the self flagellation he needed, or going home to drink and ponder all the ways the father of the victim reminded him of his own father. In the end he neither texted Rita nor slunk off to call a cab and instead, ordered a third drink. Then a fourth. He has since lost count.

He’s beginning to wonder if he should walk home, if the fall air will sober him up or if he’ll just get himself lost. He debates with himself a little longer and orders yet another drink just as a familiar voice greets him with an enthusiastic, “Counselor.”

Rafael’s not exactly proud at the way he jumps at the sound of Sonny’s voice and the accompanying hand that clasps down on his shoulder. 

“Sorry, sorry, didn’t mean to surprise you,” Sonny says, grinning down at him. He’s impossibly tall and seems even taller standing while Rafael is seated at the bar. Or maybe Rafael’s slouching. He’s not totally sure. 

“Mr. Carisi,” Rafael says, because “Sonny” sounds too familiar, for some reason, and Rafael already feels like he’s operating in a deficit being intoxicated. “I almost didn’t recognize you without the apron and the coating of flour.”

Sonny laughs and tugs at his baseball t-shirt. “Yeah, I’m incognito.” 

“Making mystery dessert deliveries?” 

“Nothing that exciting,” Sonny says. The bartender comes over with Rafael’s drink, which he probably shouldn’t have ordered and definitely shouldn’t drink, so naturally he immediately takes a calculating sip, his eyes locked on Sonny the whole time. Sonny orders a beer, something local and hopelessly hipstery. “I went to dinner with a friend,” Sonny explains. “Went back to the bakery after to get some paperwork done and didn’t feel like going home yet, so. Here I am.”

“Here you are,” Rafael says in agreement. He salutes Sonny with his glass before quickly draining it, treating the ten year old scotch in his glass like it was well tequila. 

“Another?” Sonny asks, though judging by the tone he doesn’t think that’s the best idea. 

“No,” Rafael says, laughing darkly. “I’ve been at this for a while, I should probably slow down now.”

Sonny hums sympathetically. “Bad day?”

“More like a string of bad days,” Rafael admits. He spins his empty glass on the bar for the sake of having something to do and an excuse to not look at Sonny. 

“Ah, sorry to hear that,” he says and it sounds genuine. Rafael’s not sure he understands Sonny Carisi. “Was it a case?”

“Yes. A bad one.” Rafael pushes his glass away and leans an elbow against the bar, shifting to face Sonny a bit. “I’d tell you about it, but it’s not the makings of delightful conversation.”

“Yeah?” Sonny clucks his tongue and smirks a bit. “And you want all our conversations to be delightful, huh?”

Rafael rolls his eyes and it feels a bit like his head is rolling with them. Best not do that again. “Hardly. But maybe.”

“Hardly but maybe.”

Rafael rolls his eyes again, which does prove to be a mistake, and he slowly puts his head in his hands. “Is there an echo in here?”

“Sorry,” Sonny says, laughing. “I’ll stop. You don’t look too good, Counselor.” He asks the bartender for a glass of water and pushes it at Rafael when it arrives.

“You keep calling me Counselor,” Rafael says. He drinks the water because, frustratingly, Sonny’s not wrong. 

“Should I be calling you something else?” Rafael shrugs. “Barba?” Sonny looks at him for a long moment. “Rafael?” He asks, his voice softer and his eyes wider. 

Rafael swallows, hard. “You know my first name.”

Sonny shrugs and flaps a hand dismissively. “I know some people.”

“People?”

“Cops,” Sonny clarifies. 

“You seem to know a lot of cops.”

“Yeah, well.” Sonny lets out a laugh that sounds nowhere near as cheerful as his usual. “I used to be one.”

Rafael tries to process this for a moment and he and Sonny just stare at each other as he does. “A cop.”

“Yeah.”

“And now you’re a baker.”

Sonny laughs and that’s more like it, he sounds lighter this time. “Yeah.”

Rafael scoffs. “How. Does that happen.”

“Ah, well. My father died,” Sonny says, and it must be an older hurt, but a hurt nonetheless. His forehead crinkles just a bit, and his mouth turns down, so it’s still something that echoes through with a sense of loss rather than the muted anger Rafael feels whenever he thinks of his own father. 

“The bakery was his,” Rafael guesses. 

“Got it in one,” Sonny says, lifting his beer in a salute before taking a drink. “It’s been in the family for years, you know. After he died, we coulda sold it, I guess. But.”

“But,” Rafael repeats, familiar with the weight that word can hold. 

“Exactly,” Sonny says. 

“Well.” Rafael feels suddenly very sober, even though he knows logically he can’t be, not yet. “That explains all the gifting of coffees to police officers.”

Sonny looks unapologetically guilty at that. “Yeah, I guess. Plus one ADA,” he reminds him. He considers something for a moment before reaching down and picking up a bag he must’ve left by his barstool when he arrived. He places the plastic bag on top of the bar and gestures from Rafael, to it, and back again. 

“What’s this?” Rafael asks even as Sonny gives up gesturing and pushes the bag at him instead. 

“Something I stole from work for myself,” Sonny says. “I think you need it more though.” He waves a hand at him. “What with your bad days and bad case and all.”

Rafael squints at him, suspicious, but when Sonny pushes the bag at him again so that it bumps against his hand, Rafael relents and exchanges his water glass for the bag. Inside the bag is a clear plastic container, like the kind you get at delis, and inside the plastic container is a cupcake. 

Rafael lifts out the container and squints down at the dessert’s dark cake and bright yellow icing. “It’s a cupcake.”

“Yeah.”

“You’re giving me a cupcake.”

“Yeah,” Sonny says again, his voice tinged with concern. Rafael feels Sonny’s fingers at his wrist. “Hey, you okay? You need another glass of water or something?”

Rafael shakes his head and meets Sonny’s eyes. “You’re a ridiculous man.”

“Hey,” Sonny says, wounded. He lurches back a bit, like he’s preparing to strike back via long rant about how very un-ridiculous he is, thank you. Rafael decides to cut him off. It’s for the best. He grabs the collar of Sonny’s shirt, gone loose from multiple wears and washes, and uses it to tug him forward. He watches as Sonny’s expression slides from wounded to astonished; he kisses him. 

It’s not a very impressive kiss. He’s much too drunk for this to be anything but well-intentioned and sloppy and in this moment, he prefers it like that. He remembers Liv telling him not to worry and he leans into the lack of worry he’s feeling right now, just wanting to kiss Sonny and doing it. He slides his fingers up Sonny’s jaw and presses, feeling Sonny give in to the kiss and Barba’s lead, tilting his head so they fit together better. 

Rafael is perfectly happy to keep kissing Sonny, to pull him closer and deeper, maybe slip his tongue in Sonny’s mouth. But Sonny keeps things light, if no less enthusiastic. He breaks off the kiss and punctuates it with a quick press of his lips to Rafael’s cheek. 

“That was nice,” Sonny says softly. 

Rafael blinks at him, presses his palm to Sonny’s chest and feels the warmth of him, the heavy, thud of his heart. “You’re nice,” Rafael says, frowning. 

Sonny reaches up to tangle his fingers in Rafael’s. “You’re not really saying that like it’s a good thing.”

“What?” Rafael shakes his head. “No. It is. It...definitely is.” He fumbles at it, but squeezes Sonny’s fingers. Rafael’s drunk and maybe he shouldn’t have kissed Sonny, but Sonny is nice, and it is a good thing. Even if Barba’s not completely convinced it’s a thing he should let himself have, or be near. 

Rafael reaches up and pats Sonny’s cheek, like he’s a good boy and Sonny’s eyes widen. “Oooh kay. What if you let me call you a cab, huh?”

“That’s. Probably a good idea,” Rafael says. 

“Come on, Counselor.” Sonny collects Rafael’s jacket, his cupcake, and his briefcase and starts to shepherd him towards the door. Rafael has a retort about how he can carry his own things _thank you_ but walking and standing up are taking a whole lot of his energy right now so he decides he doesn’t have anything left for snarking at Sonny. For once. 

“You can give the driver your address, right?” Sonny peers at Rafael as if trying to judge just how drunk he is. 

“Yes, I’m not that in the bag, thank you,” Rafael says, primly, trying his best to shove his hair in order. He tugs his jacket back from Sonny and puts it on to help give the appearance of sobriety. 

“Okay, just thought I’d check.” Sonny holds out a hand towards Rafael. “Gimme your phone.”

“What? Why?”

“So I can call you a lyft,” Sonny says and Rafael doesn’t really want to type at his tiny screen anyway right now so he hands it over. Sonny pokes away at Rafael’s phone for a minute, looking up every once and awhile to give Rafael a smile. “Here ya go.”

“Thanks,” Rafael says, glancing down he can see the little car that the app promises is only two minutes out. 

“I also put my phone number in there,” Sonny says, hands behind his back, projecting innocence so hard Rafael can practically make out a halo above his head. 

“You did, huh,” Rafael grunts, but he smiles. 

“I’d like to take you out,” Sonny says. “Movie. Dinner. Whatever you’d like.”

Rafael’s not entirely sure that’s a great idea, but when faced with Sonny’s hopeful expression, his soft smile, the way he can’t stop fiddling with the sleeves of his jacket, Rafael’s also having trouble remembering why it’d be a bad idea. 

“Okay,” he says, finally. 

Over Sonny’s shoulder, Rafael can see his ride pulling up. He’s almost ready to ignore it when Sonny’s smile widens and he says, “Okay.”

*

“You’ve looked better,” Carmen says. Rafael has always appreciated how Carmen manages to be both honest but polite, since he’s fairly sure she could have compared him to road kill and it would have been true. 

“Yes, thank you,” Rafael grunts, opting to keep his sunglasses on his face until his first meeting of the day or until the universe turns the brightness setting down on the world, whatever happens first. 

“The DA called, nothing too important, just a reminder about a status meeting you agreed to last week,” Carmen says and Rafael groans, regretting ever having agreed to that. “And you had a delivery.”

Rafael stares at her as he tries furiously to remember if he’s done any ill-advised shopping lately. He has a bad habit of buying light fixtures and ties at odd hours of the night/morning when he should be sleeping but his brain hasn’t slowed down yet. “I haven’t ordered anything,” he says, feeling reasonably sure of that. 

“No, this is from a friend,” Carmen says, clearly wanting to ask more but also knowing now isn’t the best time. 

“A friend?”

“That’s what they said. I left it on your desk.”

“Okay, fine,” he says, opening the door to his office. “Don’t bother me unless someone’s dead or dying.”

“Understood,” Carmen says with a nod.

Rafael closes the door to his office slowly, softly, so as not to aggravate his head. He doesn’t bother opening the blinds of his windows or turning on any lights, not yet, not worth it, give him some more time to adjust, please. He hasn’t had a hangover in a very long time and spent a full ten minutes this morning bemoaning his aging liver and his inability to drink the way he used to. 

He walks around to sit at his desk and it becomes clear very quickly what the delivery is and who delivered it. He’s not going to lie, he’s most happy to see the coffee. It’s another cuban, and the sugary foam is exactly what he needs right now. The pastry bag next to the coffee contains four biscotti in various flavors. Rafael selects one at random and dips it into his coffee before biting into what turns out to be pistachio. 

He digs his phone out of his pocket and doesn’t let himself pause to think before dialing the newest contact in there. 

“How you feeling this morning, Counselor?” Sonny sounds amused and more than a little smug, which is annoying. 

“Fine, thank you, though I doubt I’ll be indulging in that much scotch any time soon,” Rafael says. 

“Ah, it wasn’t all bad though,” Sonny says, betraying a bit of nervousness in his voice, likely wondering if Rafael regrets kissing him. 

Rafael thinks about apologizing for the kiss. He considers wrapping it up in a neat, tidy, excuse of being drunk and melodramatic. Instead he taps the biscotti against the lip of his cup and admits, “No. It wasn’t.”

He hears Sonny huff out a laugh. “So how about it? Wanna see a movie with me?”

“I might have the time.”

“There’s a place near the bakery, they show old movies on Thursdays.”

“What’s this week’s offering?”

“His Girl Friday.”

“I like that movie,” Rafael says.

“Who doesn’t like Cary Grant being funny while wearing a nicely tailored suit.”

“You like guys in nice suits?” 

Sonny laughs again and Rafael can feel his cheeks flush at his obvious hunting for a compliment, for reassurance that Sonny is into him. He blames the hangover for that too. Sonny just hums and says, “I think you know I do.”

Rafael thinks it best to end this call before he embarrasses himself any further. “I’ll see you Thursday, then.”

“Looking forward to it.”

Rafael looks down at the coffee, the biscotti, and he hopes he’s not making a mistake, letting himself do this, but he feels like he can’t _not_. “Me too.”

*

Sonny holds the door to the theater open for Rafael, tilting his head down at him. “That was good, right?” 

“It was,” Rafael says. “A little more sexist than I remember it being but I haven’t watched it in years.”

“It came out in the forties or something,” Sonny says, gesturing with the hand he’s holding a half empty bag of popcorn in, spilling a bit of it along the sidewalk. 

“The sexism makes sense given the period, yes, I’d just, forgotten about it,” Rafael says in his own defense. “All I had remembered was that at some point someone was in a desk and Cary Grant was predictably suave.”

“That desk bit looked uncomfortable,” Sonny says, wincing. “I could never get my arms and legs into one of those things.”

“Not attached to you, you couldn’t,” Rafael says. 

“That’s dark.” Sonny laughs and taps a finger against Rafael’s temple. “Try and leave murder brain at the office, Counselor.”

Rafael softly bats away Sonny’s hand and lets their fingers tangle together loosely for a moment at their sides. “I’ll try. Where are you leading me, by the way?”

“Bakery? I got something prepared.” Sonny smiles and between that dimple and the dangling promise of desserts, Rafael’s so doomed. 

“Alright, then,” he says, aiming for casual and likely missing by a mile. 

“Wasn’t Cary Grant gay?”

“Was he?”

Sonny shrugs. “I thought I read something about him and some other guy, a decorator, living it up back in the day.”

“Who knows,” Rafael says wryly. “So much queer history from that time period was well-hidden for safety reasons or lost to police raids or AIDS that we’ll probably only ever be able to guess.”

“That’s sad,” Sonny says, sighing. “I dunno, though, you see that hand gesture he made at that part with the fiance’s mother?” Just in case Rafael missed it, Sonny reenacts it now, a very well-choreographed and melodramatic press of palm to chest. “That was pretty gay. I’m feeling confident in saying he was gay.”

“That, Mr. Carisi, is a horrible stereotype and you should be ashamed.” Rafael turns his head so Sonny won’t see him trying not to laugh. Sonny tugs at the sleeve of Rafael’s sweater and he does laugh, loud and bright. 

“Come on, you know what I mean,” Sonny insists.

Rafael rolls his eyes but concedes the point with a smile and a shrug. “Fine, yes, that was pretty gay.”

“Thank you!” Sonny shakes his head, smiling. “You know, this is what I like about being with other queer people.”

“Labeling hands gestures as gay?”

“I dunno, yeah, maybe.” Sonny flails and more popcorn goes scattering and the birds of this neighborhood will be grateful for it, even if Sonny maybe would’ve been better off throwing the bag out at the theatre. “I came out late. I was older. I kinda missed the whole experience of just being young and gay and hanging out with your friends, calling things gay and laughing about it.”

Rafael hums sympathetically and curls a hand around Sonny’s elbow, tugging him in closer to his side. “You have queer friends now, though, right?”

“Yeah, sure,” Sonny says reflexively. “But I don’t get to hang out with ‘em a lot. The bakery, my family, they both take up a lot of my time.”

Rafael arches an eyebrow at Sonny. “Should I be flattered you made time for me?”

They’ve reached the bakery and Sonny looks a bit sheepish as he unlocks the front door. “Yeah, maybe. Just a bit.”

Sonny flips on the lights and locks the door behind them. It’s a little weird to be in the bakery without music playing over the store speakers, the pastry case bare. Sonny’s letting Rafael see the shop like this, welcoming him into it, even, and it feels like that means something. 

“Wait right here,” Sonny instructs, tugging out a chair for Rafael at one of the tiny cafe tables. “I’ll be back in a jiff, okay?”

“Okay,” Rafael says, charmed in spite of himself. He sits and reflexively pulls out his phone again to peruse his email and texts. His mother wants have dinner so he tells her to pick a time and a place. Arguing with Lucia Barba is futile. Carmen’s added a meeting to his calendar with a state’s attorney picking up a trafficking case where SVU left off. Rafael’s typing some notes to himself to prep for that meeting when Sonny reappears, carrying two small ramekins. 

“I vanish for a second and I lose you,” Sonny says, shaking his head sadly. 

“My work never stops,” Rafael drones. It’s not worth it to even try to deny that he works all the time. If there’s any hope for them, Sonny needs to know that sooner rather than later anyway. “You have my attention now, though, I promise.”

Sonny pushes a ramekin towards him and provides a spoon. “Here ya go.”

Rafael taps his spoon against hard caramel, smiling at the satisfying crack it makes. “Creme brulee?”

Sonny shoves a spoonful of his own creme brulee in his mouth and nods. “Vanilla. I know it can be boring, but it’s classic. Besides, I use real vanilla bean, you know, none of that extract junk.”

“I’m honored.” The flavor is classic, yes, but smooth and familiar and exciting in how satisfying it is. “It’s very good.” Sonny shrugs, all ‘aw shucks.’ “I’m surprised you went French instead of Italian, though.”

“Look, no disrespect to my ancestors intended...” He quickly crosses himself and glances up towards the sky just to hedge his bets. “But when you wanna impress, you just. Kinda have to go French.”

Rafael can’t help being a bit smug. “So this is you trying to impress me.”

“Maybe.” Sonny smiles. “Is it working?” 

Rafael feels he has to pretend to be struggling with an answer here and shoves more creme brulee in his mouth to buy himself some time. Sonny starts humming the jeopardy song and Rafael rolls his eyes. “Yes, I admit, I’m impressed.”

“Impressed enough to let me take you out again?”

Rafael shakes his head, huffing out a laugh at the slightly dated phrasing. “Make me a coffee, Carisi, and consider a second date secured.”

Sonny heaves out a sigh, like this is a chore for him, but he’s beaming at Rafael as he dutifully moves from the table to behind the pastry case to make Rafael his coffee. Rafael watches him move and hides a slow smile behind his creme brulee. 

*

It’s November when Rafael realizes he’s been dating Sonny long enough that decorum would dictate, or at least _permit_ sharing with friends and family news of a new relationship. 

He and Liv are prepping for tomorrow, another day of the A.J. Martin trial, and prepping has long slid into idle chit chat. When Liv suggests they continue their conversation over drinks, Rafael’s first thought is, _can’t, I have a date with Sonny,_ followed by, _I can tell Liv about Sonny._

He doesn’t really think about it more than that. “I have a date.”

Liv looks surprised, which is more than mildly insulting, maybe. “Good for you.”

“It’s new,” he admits. 

“Dating in general or this person in particular?”

Barba measures that for a moment before he shrugs. “The person. Though it has been awhile since I’ve seen someone more than a few times.”

Liv’s smile turns into a smirk. “Ah, so this is a bit more than a date.”

“Possibly.”

“Is this your something-indulgent-and-possibly-meaningful?” 

“I plead the fifth,” Rafael quips and closes the folder still open on his desk, more to give the illusion that they were still discussing the trial than anything else. 

“Well, have fun,” Liv says as she gets up and heads for the door. “Be safe.”

“Yes, good night, Sergeant,” Rafael says, firmly shooing Liv out of his office. He packs up his briefcase and as he does he can’t help but smile, just a little, because that, that wasn’t terrible. Telling Liv. That was okay. 

He wouldn’t say he feels giddy after that, he hasn’t been giddy since he was six, but he feels lighter, somehow. Dating Sonny has been good, suspiciously good, and it feels nice to share it with someone else, even just in passing, even with the barest of details. 

He’s thinking of that, later, when he’s having dinner with Sonny and he asks, “have you told anyone about us?”

Sonny pauses in the middle of trying to steal the last piece of eel roll and chews on his own lip instead. “Not really,” Sonny says before he snags the eel roll up with his chopsticks and looks grateful for the excuse to chew for a bit. 

“I’m not mad if you haven’t told anyone,” Rafael says, because Sonny is looking slightly pained. “I mentioned I had a date tonight to a friend and was thinking about telling more people that I’m seeing someone.” He takes care to emphasize the _I_ part so Sonny knows that none of this is necessarily a demand that Sonny start shouting at people the details of their relationship.

Sonny relaxes a bit and distractedly taps one of his chopsticks on the table. Sonny has been impersonating a drummer all night. If it were anyone else Rafael probably would have snapped by now, but whatever annoyance Rafael feels is buried under a lot of weird affection for how much frenetic energy Sonny seems to have at all times. He’s like a shark; if he stops moving, he’ll die. 

“I talk about you with Bella a lot, she might be getting sick of hearing your name, to be honest,” Sonny says, grimacing with embarrassment. 

Rafael pats his hand, temporarily bringing the chopstick drum solo to a pause. “I kind of got that feeling the last time I stopped by the bakery and my biscotti came with a very serious glare.”

Sonny barks out a laugh. “Yeah, sorry, she’s...whatever.”

“It’s okay, I’ve stared down far worse in court.” He’s stalling now, because Sonny is staring off into space a bit, like he’s collecting himself for whatever he has to say next, and Rafael doesn’t want to rush him. “And from my mother.”

“Yeah, speaking of...” Sonny swallows hard before he bursts out in a rush, like he’s shoving the words out of his mouth, “I kinda live with my mom. And she knows I date guys and everything but she’s not super positive about it. And I just. Haven’t said anything to her yet. About you. About this.”

Rafael sits with that for a minute. “Huh.”

Sonny makes another face and looks slightly annoyed he doesn’t have more sushi to shove in his mouth. “Yeah, I, uh, moved back in with her after Dad died.”

“You commute from Staten Island to be at the bakery every morning at 4am?” 

“ I know it sounds stupid--”

“It sounds painful,” Rafael says, with the force of a man who truly hates mornings. 

Sonny laughs and runs a hand through his hair as he trails off into a sigh. “Yeah, uh. It can be that.”

He still looks tense so Rafael grabs his hand this time and squeezes. “I’m not mad you live with your mom. Or that you haven’t said anything to her yet about me. This isn’t a test.”

“Yeah, okay,” Sonny says, like he half believes it. 

“Seriously, it’s okay.” Rafael slides what’s left of his spicy tuna roll over towards Sonny’s side of the table. Having something edible in front of him to poke at seems to relax him more. “It does explain why you never stay over, though.”

Sonny grunts. “Yeah, I need to sleep early so I can get up early, you know.” He spins his finger in the air. “That whole rigamarole.” He eats a piece of sushi and thinks for a moment. “It’s not that I don’t wanna stay over.”

“I know.”

“I could.”

“I know.”

“I could this Friday.” 

Rafael aims for nonchalant when he says, “you could?” 

“I’ve been training Bella’s boyfriend in working the back of the shop,” Sonny explains. “He’s kind of a screw up, you know, but he’s trying hard and wants to do good so Bella talked me into giving him a shot.”

Rafael doubts she had to try very hard, considering the soft touch Sonny has proven to be where his family is concerned. He isn’t about to criticize the situation though, not if it’s going to give Sonny the same day off as Rafael. “So you wouldn’t have to work Saturday?”

“I don’t think so. We don’t have any events or anything scheduled.” He takes out his phone then and actually double checks. “Yeah, nothin’. I could do prep the night before, Tommy knows how to bake most of the morning-of stuff just fine. He and Bella can handle all the work Saturday.” 

“You don’t have to stay over, I’m okay taking things slow.” Sonny’s been to his apartment before. They’ve done the ridiculously teenaged making out on the coach and furtive handjobs, clothes haphazardly pushed to the side. If that’s what they have to live on for a little bit longer, Rafael’s okay with that. 

“I know,” Sonny says, looking him right in the eye and Rafael thinks the ‘I prosecute sexual assault cases, consent is important to me’ speech worked. “I want to, though. If you want to.”

Rafael signals for the check and says, “I’d like that.”

Sonny laughs. “There, that didn’t hurt, did it?”

“A little,” he says and Sonny ignores him in favor of loudly making plans to cook for him on Friday. It’d be the first time. Sonny is usually tired of cooking and baking by the time his day is over and he and Rafael can be together. 

“If you thought you were getting a personal chef out of this relationship, I have bad news,” he’d said around their third date when they’d ordered thai food and watched a bad action movie. 

“I’ll settle for occasional pastry pusher,” Rafael said, because Sonny had been smiling but he’d also looked concerned, like Rafael was going to shove Sonny out the door at the news. 

“You don’t have to cook for me if you don’t want to either,” Rafael reminds him now, just in case Sonny’s feeling renewed guilt over some imagined debt of meals. 

“Yeah but I think I might have it in me to do it and I’d like to,” Sonny says, and that’s a different story, then. 

“I’ll provide the wine,” he says. 

Sonny leans over and presses a quick kiss to Rafael’s cheek. “Deal.”

*

On Friday, around two, Sonny sends him a text that is frankly pretty incomprehensible and contains more than a few emojis. 

“I have no idea what this is,” Rafael says. 

Carmen glances up at him from behind her laptop. They’re reviewing his schedule for next week the way they do every Friday, with more than a few complaints about defense attorneys and court room gossip sprinkled in between meeting confirmations. “Did someone send you a gif again?”

“No.” Rita had sent the gif, it had been of a cartoon gnome vomiting rainbows, of all things, and it had taken roughly four hours for Rafael, who liked to think he was particularly adept at trading barbs with Rita, to respond in kind. He’s still a little bitter about the whole thing, to tell the truth. “A plethora of emojis,” he clarifies when Carmen continues to look at him, curious. 

“Ah,” she says. “Almost as bad.”

 _English please_ , he types back to Sonny. 

“Hudson really wants you to visit as part of their lecture series on civic responsibility,” Carmen reports. 

“I live to disappoint Hudson University,” Rafael says, in no mood to step foot on that campus and endure an evening of benign undergraduate questions and dining hall catering. 

“Vanity Fair called for a quote.” Rafael frowns and Carmen shakes her head at her laptop. “They’re doing a feature on Paula Martin.”

“Me cago en diez,”2 Rafael grumbles, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Pretend you didn’t hear that.”

“Done,” Carmen says, reminding Rafael why he hired her in the first place. 

His phone chirps with a response from Sonny. This time there’s just the one emoji, a sad face. _Not feeling up to cooking after all. Do you mind if me making dinner turns into me making brunch tomorrow?_ Rafael resists the urge to say I told you so and just smiles while shaking his head and typing back, _Brunch is acceptable. I have champagne. There could be bellinis._

To Carmen he asks, “Did you get any idea what this feature on Paula will be like?”

“Probably pretty complimentary,” Carmen says. “The writer isn’t a dip, though. Not the type to write a total fluff piece. She’ll probably be fair.”

“Okay, I’ll think of something,” Rafael says and waves a hand to move them along to the next thing. 

Carmen clears her throat, tries to keep a smile off her face and fails. “Your mother called about dinner.”

Rafael tips his head back and groans in the general direction of the ceiling. “I’m fairly sure I told her to just pick a date, time and location.”

His phone chirps. More emojis: what looks like some champagne glasses and a kissy face. “I’m dating a teenager,” he mutters, not unaffectionately, and when Carmen raises an eyebrow he adds, “Nevermind.”

“Your mother insists you pick a place,” Carmen says, moving right along. “Would you like me to pick one for you and let her know a time and day that works for your schedule?”

“I’m fairly sure arranging the details of my regular maternal scolding is outside your job requirements,” Rafael says. Though he’d like nothing more than to farm this one out to Carmen, she’s a brilliant assistant and paralegal and he doesn’t like to take advantage of her giving nature. “I’ll handle it.”

“Okay,” she says. “I’ll write in a reminder for me to remind you because I’m fairly sure you’ll put it off for another week or so.”

He pulls a face but admits, “Fair. Now get out of here. Enjoy your weekend.”

She gives his phone a rather pointed look. “You too.”

*

When Sonny appears at his door he’s holding grocery bags like he’s Santa bringing presents. “I got food,” he announces happily, greeting Rafael with a quick kiss as he walks into the apartment. 

“Feel free to put it...wherever.” He gestures towards his kitchen, often viewed and hardly ever used. 

Sonny shoots him a look like he knows just how often Rafael uses, or rather doesn’t use, his kitchen. 

“I ordered dinner, it should be here any minute,” he says, reminding Sonny that he hadn’t felt like cooking tonight either, thank you very much. 

“Aw, yeah? What we having?” Sonny putters around Rafael’s kitchen, putting things away into cabinets and the fridge and, well, the whole scene is downright homey.

“Pizza.”

Sonny barks out a laugh. “Pizza?”

“I thought you’d appreciate that.”

“I do, it’s just a little pedestrian for you.”

Rafael rolls his eyes. He’s been getting more than a little hint that Sonny’s feeling self conscious about his money, or lack thereof, since Sonny had admitted he still lives with his mother. “I grew up in the Bronx,” he reminds Sonny. “I appreciate a good slice.”

“Okay, okay.” Sonny puts up his hands in surrender. “That actually makes me feel a little better about the surprise I brought tonight, to tell the truth.”

“I’m almost afraid to ask,” Rafael says. 

Sonny brings up one of the bags he’d brought into the apartment and sets it on the kitchen counter. He shoves the side of the plastic bag away and reveals what Rafael recognizes as an older model video gaming system. “Ta da.”

“Are you twelve?” 

Sonny gives Rafael a look that says that wasn’t his best come back and that Sonny is definitely ranking his retorts. “I brought one of the best games and I have a sneaking suspicion you’re the competitive sort.”

Rafael isn’t about to deny that, it’s too obviously a part of what makes him, him. He reaches into the bag and pulls out the game, recognizing it from his Cambridge days. “I’m not going to go easy on you, I hope you know that.”

“Bring it, Counselor,” Sonny says, all smirk and cocked out hip and Rafael has honestly never been more attracted to him. 

The pizza arrives before Rafael can take this down a distracting but pleasant making out against the countertop route. They settle into Rafael’s living room with pizza and beer. 

“You know how to hook that thing up?” Rafael nods at the video game console.

“How hard can it be?”

“Well now you’ve jinxed it.”

Sonny crosses himself and shrugs like, he’s good now. It doesn’t take too long to hook up the console, most of the time is dedicated to untangling cords than anything else. Rafael shoves a piece of pizza in his mouth as Sonny starts up the game with a giddy little clap. 

“God,” Rafael says as the music starts. “I’m having undergraduate flashbacks.”

Sonny flops down on the couch next to Rafael and hands him a controller before taking a swig from his beer. “I think I was in middle school then.”

“Okay, thank you,” Rafael says, shoving at Sonny’s head, pushing him away towards the other end of the coach as he laughs. “No age reminders necessary. And use a coaster, you hooligan.”

Sonny pointedly drags a coaster over and puts his beer down on it. They start to play and Rafael is surprised how quickly he remembers how to smash keys the right way to hurl other cartoon characters off of brightly colored landscapes in order to gain points. Somewhere underneath layer upon layer of vital knowledge of the law is this, for whatever reason: how to win at Super Smash Bros. 

Not that he does very much of that; winning. Sonny is obnoxiously good at this game and after his third thorough routing of Rafael he admits he has an unfair advantage. “I’m one of four kids and my parents loved when we could all play together so they’d let us play this for hours.”

“Hours, huh?” 

“Or until one of us threw a controller at someone’s head, whatever came first,” Sonny acknowledges. “I had this bruise on my cheek once for _weeks_ \--”

Rafael goes flying off the cliff again and angrily announces, “that’s it, you’re not allowed to play as the pink thing anymore.”

Sonny laughs for a full minute and makes Rafael say Kirby’s name a couple times before he agrees to play as someone else. Unfortunately for Rafael, the switch doesn’t really impact Sonny’s ability to play the game and Rafael continues to lose until he resorts to “accidentally” elbowing Sonny or waving his hand in Sonny’s face to block his view or knock the controller out of his hands. 

“Okay,” Sonny says as Rafael’s hand darts out to nudge at his chin. “Okay,” he repeats as Rafael’s palm comes up and settles across Sonny’s eyes. “Okay,” he says, louder this time and he drops his controller in favor of lunging for Rafael’s, which quickly also goes flying as the two of them collapse sideways against the couch. 

Rafael can’t help but laugh at the fire-engulfing sounds that accompany the doomed end of both of their characters. “I think we should call that one a draw.”

Sonny smothers a laugh into Rafael’s chest before he settles up on his elbows above Rafael to shake his head at him mournfully. “You, Mr. Barba, are a cheat.”

“You’re a Smash Bros. savant, I was driven to it,” Rafael insists.

“I mean, you can try that defense, Counselor, but I don’t think your odds are looking so good, here.”

Rafael pretends he’s bothered by that for five seconds before unapologetically tugging at Sonny’s shirt collar, pulling him in for a kiss. “I think they’re just fine, actually.” 

Sonny’s smiling, which makes kissing him a little tough. “You do huh?”

“Yes, now shut up,” Rafael says impatiently. 

He shuts up, for a little bit at least, long enough for Rafael to slip his hands around to rest at the small of Sonny’s back. Sonny’s own fingers clutch at Rafael’s shoulders before one hand wanders up to grab and tease at Rafael’s hair as Rafael’s mouth opens underneath Sonny’s.

“Not that I’m complaining,” Sonny gasps out as Rafael bites at the arc of Sonny’s neck. “But--”

“But you’re about to complain?” 

Sonny rolls his eyes. “I’m just saying. I’m staying the night. We could be doing this in your bed.”

Rafael hums and fakes at mulling it over as he runs his mouth along Sonny’s jawline. “Fair point,” he says finally and Sonny rolls his eyes again and then rolls off of Rafael. 

Rafael fists a handful of Sonny’s shirt and uses it to drag him in the direction of his bedroom. “Woah, Counselor,” Sonny protests, but he doesn’t bat at Rafael’s hand and when Rafael stops inside his room beside his bed Sonny keeps moving, wrapping his long arms around Rafael’s waist and bending down to murmur in Rafael’s ear. “What’ya want, huh?” 

Rafael presses his lips together and focuses on toeing off his shoes before he thinks about an answer to Sonny’s question. It’s not like he hasn’t been imagining this but every scenario seems to have slid right out of his brain in the past four seconds, which is, unfortunate. He prides himself on being able to maintain his mental faculties no matter the situation but apparently an abundance of eager baker is too much right now. Sonny pushes his own shirt up and then yanks it all the way off and somehow that conks Rafael’s brain back into motion. 

“I need you to finger me,” he says, because he has done an awful lot of thinking of Sonny’s large palms and long tapered fingers. How they flap around when he’s talking about his sisters or ranting about how much he hates almond paste and how he uses them to delicately crimp the sides of pies and decorate cookies. 

Sonny exhales a little shakily before nodding and pressing staccato kisses up Rafael’s neck. “Yeah, okay, totally, we can, uh. Yup. Do that.”

“I’ll blow you, before or after, you can pick.” Rafael’s tongue seems to have loosened and now Sonny’s has stopped up because he just stares as Rafael skitters his fingers around the side of Sonny’s lean chest and after a pause and shaky nod from Sonny, Rafael unbuckles Sonny’s belt and shoves it aside in favor of unbuttoning Sonny’s jeans. 

Rafael’s easing his fingers below the waistband of Sonny’s underwear when Sonny gasps and fumbles for Rafael’s hand, stopping him. 

“Are you okay?” Rafael searches Sonny’s face for a sign he’s upset or bothered and finds nothing but a lot of arousal and some frustration. 

“Yeah, no, um.” Sonny shakes his head and laughs breathlessly. “It’s been a while. Like. A real. Long while. And I’m worried I’m gonna shoot off the second you touch me.”

Rafael hums thoughtfully. “That’s hot.”

“No it’s not, it’s pathetic,” Sonny snorts, looking down and away from Rafael. 

Rafael brings his hands up to tap at Sonny’s chin and Sonny reluctantly meets Rafael’s gaze. “It’s not,” he says firmly, and he doesn’t look away until he sees Sonny’s jaw clench, his eyes widen in a way that tells Rafael that Sonny believes him. “Now. I suggested a plan of action. And I’m fine with any order you’d like, or if you have an alternative suggestion. What’ll it be?”

Sonny sways closer to Rafael, his hands sliding up Rafael’s chest to frame his face, pulling him in for a deep kiss. “I wanna touch you first. Okay?”

“Okay,” Rafael says. 

They both shove at their clothes, haphazardly tossing shirts and belts and pants to the side. Rafael climbs onto the bed first and he tugs at Sonny’s hand until Sonny follows him down, laughing as he goes because he’s still kicking his way out of his pants. Rafael swallows the last of Sonny’s laughs and runs his fingers through Sonny’s hair, tugging at him, keeping him right where Rafael wants him. All the better to slip his tongue into Sonny’s mouth, to feel the moans that escape Sonny’s mouth between kisses, to meet Sonny’s bright eyes when the other man pushes away to look at Rafael. 

“Where’s the--”

“Lube’s in the--”

Rafael gestures to the small table by the bed and Sonny lunges at it with a vigor that shakes the table and almost topples over the lamp on top of it. “Whoops,” Sonny says, not sounding sorry at all as he continues to dig in the drawer of the table.

“You’re like a lanky bull in a china shop,” Rafael grumbles into Sonny’s freckled shoulder. He lightly drags his fingers down Sonny’s back and jabs at his hip when Sonny roughly closes the drawer as a silent request to not break Rafael’s shit. 

“Sorry, sorry,” Sonny says, kissing Rafael’s shoulder and then his neck. 

“Whatever, just get me naked,” he barks because he’s starting to not care if Sonny breaks anything, he really just wants him to be _in him already_ , for fuck’s sake. 

Sonny is very sweet and very eager and, luckily, very good at taking direction, at least when there’s a shared goal. He slides his hands down Rafael’s side and grabs at his underwear, yanking it down so Rafael can shove it the rest of the way with his foot and kick it off. 

“Oh fuck, thank you,” Rafael says, and whether he’s thanking Sonny, a god he only sort of believes in, or the universe, is anyone’s guess. The important thing is Sonny’s settled firmly in between Rafael’s thighs now and there’s only the very thin material of Sonny’s boxer shorts between them. 

Sonny’s one hand slides up the inside of Rafael’s thigh and the other rubs at Rafael’s nipple long enough that Rafael gasps a bit; his fingers clench in Sonny’s hair. “Okay,” Rafael says. He picks up the tube of lube and taps it against Sonny’s shoulder. “Focus.”

“I can do two things at once, you know,” Sonny grumbles, grabbing up the lube and shouldering Rafael’s thighs further apart. 

“Yeah? Prove it.”

Sonny looks up long enough to smirk at Rafael as if to say _challenge accepted_ and Rafael shudders as Sonny settles again between Rafael’s legs. 

“Shit,” Rafael says on a long low exhale when he feels the first of Sonny’s fingers press against him. He hears Sonny’s low chuckle and he feels it, pressed into the skin of his inner thigh as Sonny kisses at him there. 

Sonny’s always moving, always talking, but he’s also always listening, looking, absorbing. He seems to know Rafael can take two fingers almost right away, that Rafael appreciates the quick, rough start. 

“Okay, that’s,” Rafael starts, about to reward Sonny with some kind of kindness or praise for this, but he trails off in favor of patting idly at Sonny’s face before curling his fingers around to rest at the back of Sonny’s neck. 

Sonny laughs and leans up a bit, grinning, pushing his two fingers in Rafael and curling just so. “Good?” He asks like this is the most important thing to him right now, that Rafael feels good, that he’s making Rafael feel good, and being on the receiving end of that dedication is starting to make Rafael squirm for reasons that have little to do with Sonny’s fingers in his ass. 

Rafael tips his head back and he’s moving his hips with Sonny’s hand now, tilting up to meet him as he, slowly, too slowly, pushes his fingers back in. Sonny adds a third finger, just at a glance at first, like a question and when Rafael just nods and digs his fingernails into the curve of his neck, Sonny slides the third finger in and groans along with Rafael when he goes. 

“Fuck, I can’t believe you’re this turned on just from my fingers,” Sonny says, breathless but somehow laughing. “It’s so awesome. You’re so awesome, Raf.”

Rafael fists Sonny’s hair and tugs. “Get up here.” He needs to feel Sonny’s fingers in him while Sonny kisses him. 

“You’re lucky my arms are so long,” Sonny says. He pushes his fingers deep inside Rafael and slides up Rafael’s body to press wet kisses against his mouth. Rafael bites at Sonny’s top lip, his lower lip, and then doesn’t even try to stifle the groan he lets out when Sonny slides his tongue into his mouth just as he speeds up the drag of his fingers in and out of Rafael’s body. 

Rafael can’t help but twitch his legs out even further as Sonny starts hitting his prostate more than he’s missing it and he tilts his head back as he clenches his jaw to stop from letting out some truly embarrassing noises. 

Sonny noses at Rafael’s cheek then goes to work sucking a bruise into Rafael’s neck right below his jawline. Rafael grunts out a curse and his fingernails bite into Sonny’s skin at his back and shoulder, though Sonny doesn’t seem to notice or mind. 

“You need my other hand?” Sonny grazes the fingers of his free hand down Rafael’s stomach towards his dick. 

“No, god,” Rafael slaps Sonny’s hand away and then clenches at Sonny’s hair, shoving Sonny’s face back against Rafael’s neck. “Just keep going. Harder.”

“Shit, okay,” Sonny says, puffing out a warm breath against Rafael’s skin. “I can mark you, again?”

“Yeah, yes, okay.” Because at this point, what does one more bruise matter? Sonny looks up at him, his dimple gone positively devilish, and renews his attention on Rafael’s neck, his teeth dragging against skin he then soothes with his tongue and irritates anew with a sucking kiss. 

Rafael can feel that he’s getting closer. HIs hips are shaking as they lean in to meet the thrusts of Sonny’s fingers and Rafael can feel the burn of a flush running across his cheeks and down his chest. He waits until Sonny seems satisfied with the mark he’s making on Rafael’s neck and then tugs on his hair and tilts his head down in a quiet but firm request for a kiss. 

“Raf,” Sonny breathes out, his voice heavy with affection and Rafael pushes in to kiss him, messy and deep. He grunts into Sonny’s mouth as he feels himself begin to come and clutches Sonny’s arm as he shakes his way through it, finally releasing Sonny’s mouth to try and catch his breath when feels himself coming down. 

“Holy,” Sonny says, a little awe struck, and he laughs and runs his fingers that weren’t _just inside Rafael_ through Rafael’s hair, awkwardly petting at him affectionately. “You okay?”

Rafael rolls his eyes and fixes him with a flat glare. “No, clearly I’m suffering.”

“Yeah, alright.” Sonny laughs and presses quick kisses to Rafael’s temple. “Just being polite and checking, you know.”

“Yes, I know,” Rafael says more earnestly, and his lifts his head up to kiss Sonny just to hit the point home. “That was very good, I promise.”

“Okay, good.”

Rafael glimpses down at where Sonny’s obvious interest in their current activities is tenting his boxers. “How are you? Hanging in?”

“So far,” Sonny says. “I’m definitely still gonna go off pretty fast but I feel less bad about that now that I--”

“Fingerbanged me into next week?”

“I mean, sure, if you wanna put it like that,” Sonny says, looking pretty proud of himself. Rafael laughs before yanking Sonny closer for a kiss. 

Rafael pushes Sonny away as quick as he pulled him in, getting him to roll over on his back so Rafael can climb on top of him, pushing impatiently at Sonny’s underwear. Rafael slides down Sonny’s body as Sonny’s underwear slides down his legs. Rafael doesn’t bother moving the underwear off completely and Sonny doesn’t seem like he minds when Rafael quickly bends down to take as much of Sonny’s dick in his mouth as he can. 

“Aw, jeez,” Sonny hisses, his hands gripping at Rafael’s hair, his shoulders, back to his hair again. 

Knowing Sonny’s already pretty worked up and feeling pretty thankful that Sonny had so expertly coaxed him to an orgasm first and everything, Rafael doesn’t feel any need to drag this out. He sucks, hard, his hand coming up to grip at what Rafael can’t fit in his mouth. 

He hears Sonny’s breath hitch when Rafael pulls up, his tongue dragging across the head of Sonny’s dick. Rafael brings his hand up and thumbs at Sonny’s slit, his tongue dragging back down as he does. 

“I’m gonna come, Raf,” Sonny chokes out, polite as ever, letting Rafael decide if he wants to have Sonny in his mouth or his hand when that happens. 

Swallowing come isn’t Rafael’s favorite thing so he moves his head back and keeps his hand moving, fast and firm on Sonny’s dick and watches as Sonny shudders, tips his head back, and comes all over himself and Rafael’s fist. 

“Shit,” Sonny hiccups, his arm flopping over his eyes as he catches his breath. 

“Okay?” 

“Yeah,” Sonny laughs. 

Rafael hums and presses a kiss to the center of Sonny’s chest as he climbs over him and off the bed. “I’m gonna get us water, okay?”

Sonny doesn’t move his arm, just flaps his other hand at him listlessly. “Yeah, kay.”

Rafael scoops up his underwear off the floor and slips it on as he wanders, still sort of in a post-orgasm haze, to his kitchen. He fills two glasses of water and thinks for a moment of grabbing a bag of cookies or something but the prospect of crumbs in bed makes him skip it. 

He can’t help but pause in the entryway to his bedroom, his hip pressed against the doorway. He takes a long sip from his water glass and watches Sonny’s lanky naked form, spread across the dark burgundy cotton of Rafael’s sheets. Sonny’s eyes are closed and his long limbs are sprawled out haphazardly as he takes long, deep breaths. Finally Sonny tilts his head towards him and looks at Rafael with heavy-lidded eyes. 

“Hey,” Sonny says softly, mouth quirking into a smirk. 

Rafael smirks back at him. “Hi.”

Sonny beckons him closer with a wave of his hand and Rafael finds it impossible to refuse him. He places his glass of water on the side table and hands Sonny his, watches Sonny sit up, shoulders against the headboard. His eyes don’t leave Rafael as he takes a long drink of water, then sets the glass aside on the other side table. 

Rafael climbs into bed and when he feels Sonny curl up at his side, he moves his arm so Sonny can move in closer, a long line of warmth all across Rafael’s side.

Sonny chuckles against Rafael’s chest. “Know what I just realized?”

“Hmm, what?”

“I was so focused on buying food for tomorrow I forgot to bring clothes. For tomorrow.”

Sonny laughs louder and Rafael slaps his hand to his head. “Okay, we’ll worry about that in the morning.”

“I could just walk around your apartment naked all day, I guess.”

“Please don’t cook naked,” Rafael says drolly. “I do not want to make that 911 call.”

Sonny snorts and kisses Rafael’s shoulder. “Yeah, okay, deal.” He hums. “What if we _ate_ naked, though?”

“Go. To. Sleep. Before I murder you,” Rafael says and that sets Sonny off laughing again, but Rafael doesn’t mind, much. 

*

Sonny doesn’t cook brunch naked, though he makes another four jokes about it while Rafael is looking through his wardrobe for something that will fit him. The jokes get downright cheesy by the end and Rafael doesn’t regret at all throwing the threadbare Harvard sweatpants at Sonny’s face. They’re wader length on Sonny, hitting him mid-calf, and the Yankees t-shirt rides up and flashes belly button every time Sonny raises his arms. 

“You look like a fool,” Rafael says, smiling as he says it. 

“A fool you’re pretty darn charmed by,” Sonny says, sounding sure of himself. 

“I never said I had much taste or common sense,” Rafael mutters. When Sonny lunges out to grab at Rafael to yank him in for a kiss Rafael doesn’t put up a fight. 

It’s the most use Rafael’s kitchen utensils have gotten in awhile. Sonny finds bowls Rafael didn’t even remember he owned. 

Rafael mainlines coffee and watches Sonny cook. He has a pretty great view sitting at the bar that separates his kitchen from his living room. He slowly wakes up sipping at the pour over Sonny expertly prepared and watches the way Sonny’s shoulders move as reaches over for this ingredient or that bowl. Sonny knows he’s being watched and doesn’t seem to mind, if the coy looks over his shoulder are any indication. He’s humming something peppy and awful that Rafael is sure he’s heard in a store somewhere before but couldn’t name to save his life. He keeps smiling at nothing and at Rafael and every once and awhile breaks out into a diatribe about an ingredient or a relative or someone back in Staten Island. 

It’s a scene Rafael feels at once a part of and removed from. He wants to reach out and touch Sonny, offer to help him cook, or just get a little closer, but he’s almost afraid that by inserting himself into the scene, he’ll ruin it. He doesn’t move from his seat at the bar. He doesn’t close his eyes or move away, either, he just watches and feels himself growing more and more enamored with the sight of Sonny in his kitchen by the second until it feels like his cup runneth over and become niagara falls. 

“I’m about done here, you still want bellinis?” 

Rafael clears his throat and rubs at his chest for a moment. “We may as well,” he says, eyeing his now empty coffee mug. “I’ve had more than enough caffeine.”

There’s something exhilarating about opening a bottle of champagne at 10am on an otherwise boring Saturday. Sonny watches him do it and adds vocal commentary in the form of concerned hums and overly-impressed noises when Rafael manages to get the champagne open without any broken bottles or cork-related injuries. 

“The whole towel and the cork thing doesn’t have quite the same pizazz as, like, a sword,” Sonny complains. 

“Like anyone trusts you with a sword.”

“I work with knives all the time!”

“Drink,” Rafael says, and shoves a flute of champagne, with just a splash of peach juice added to it, into Sonny’s hand. 

Sonny winks at him but obeys, taking a long sip of champagne. “Okay, sit wherever you wanna eat and I’ll bring you a plate.”

Rafael opts to return to the bar and the seat where he’d watched Sonny cook. Sonny expertly slides a plate down in front of him before joining him at the bar. 

“This looks good,” Rafael says, reaching out to touch his plate reverently and swallowing down the impulse to take a damn picture of the thing. Sonny had arranged thick pieces of french toast in a neat pile on the plate, topped with powdered sugar and what Rafael thinks, and knows, after taking an experimental taste, is a whipped ricotta cream. Strips of bacon and a pile of crisp potatoes balance out the sweetness on the plate and also threaten to weigh down the countertop. It’s a very full plate. 

“I made the challah myself, couple days ago,” Sonny says, beaming with pride at Rafael as he starts to cut at his own french toast with his fork. “You gotta use stale bread for french toast, otherwise, what’s the freaking point.”

Rafael’s not sure what to say to that, and he’d rather be eating anyway, so he settles for kissing Sonny on the cheek. “Indeed.” And he starts to eat. 

The french toast is perfectly fried and practically melting in the center from custard. The bacon is a thicker cut that Rafael is used to, smokier, heartier. The potatoes had looked like the most innocent item on the plate but they’re crisper than Rafael has ever remembered potatoes being, ever, and slightly spicy. 

“How the hell did you do this,” Rafael asks, stabbing a potato with his fork and waving it under Sonny’s nose. 

Sonny laughs and shoves away Rafael’s j’accuse potato. “The secret is duck fat. Gotta fry your potatoes in duck fat.”

“There’s some kind of spice in here too.” Rafael is glaring down at the potatoes like if he does it enough they’ll reveal their secrets. 

“I added that just for you,” Sonny says, looking pleased Rafael noticed. 

“What is it?” 

“Peppered salt,” Sonny says. “I usually make it with whatever hot peppers I get in my CSA basket cause they like to give me, like, twenty at a dang time and I can never eat ‘em fast enough. So you just dry them out and add them to salt and, bam. Pepper salt.” He pops a potato into his mouth and grins as he chews. “Figured you’d like it.”

“You figured right.”

Sonny hums and sways towards him, landing a kiss on the side of his neck. “I have some extra jars, if you want some.”

“Yes, of course you do.”

“Hmm, what’s that supposed to mean?”

Rafael huffs out a laugh. “Nothing,” he says reassuringly, turning on his stool to face Sonny. “I’m just not sure how you’re real, sometimes.”

Sonny tips his head to one side and frowns a little. “I’m not perfect, Raf.”

“I’ve seen you eat sushi, I know.” 

Sonny rolls his eyes. “Look, I warned you ahead of time that I like to take a piece of every roll apart to see what’s in it, in the long run, I don’t think it’s _that_ weird of a quirk anyway--”

Rafael cuts him off with a kiss, choosing not to re-litigate the sushi case from a few dates ago. “Thank you. For making me brunch.”

“Anytime,” Sonny says earnestly and it’s a soft offer wrapped in affection and something Rafael wants so badly to fall into, unquestioningly, so of course he feels he can’t or shouldn’t. He settles for grabbing Sonny by his too-small borrowed t-shirt and pulling him in for another kiss instead. 

*

Rafael doesn’t want to work on a Saturday, but he has to, which is roughly the story of 99% of his career and nothing new. When he tells Sonny that he’s welcome to stay but that Rafael has to dip into his home office to get some stuff done, Sonny doesn’t look disappointed for too long.

“I’ll clean up and hang out, you can join me whenever you’re done,” Sonny suggests. “That work?

Rafael’s not sure if having Sonny in the next room will encourage him to finish his work faster or distract him and slow things down. He just knows he doesn’t want Sonny to go home, not yet. “Yeah, that works.”

Rafael leaves Sonny to clean up and entertain himself while Rafael organizes some files and preps a statement for the reporter doing the piece on Paula Martin. Rafael doesn’t regret bringing the case against her husband to trial, but he regrets that bringing the case to trial made things harder for Paula. It’s one of those cases that fails to center the victim, and their best interest, in favor of what precedence can do for future cases and those never feel very good. It’s an exercise in throwing case law into the void of an uncertain future and betting, hoping, it will help someone one day.

He also doesn’t relish speaking to journalists. He’ll do it, and he’ll even add a bit of theatrical flair when it’s necessary, but it’s never been his favorite part of the job.

The whole thing--paperwork, talking to the journalist--takes about an hour and a half. Not bad. As far as working on the weekend, this barely counts. Rafael considers changing out of the sweatpants and shirt he’d put on this morning but since Sonny is still stuck in Rafael’s too-tight clothing, he passes on changing into real clothes and just goes to find Sonny.

The kitchen is spotless and Sonny’s lounging in the living room, a mug next to his elbow on the coffee table, a book open in his lap.

Rafael walks into the living room and Sonny, after he spots him, sits up on the couch so Rafael can join him.

“Work all done?”

“Never all done,” Rafael sighs. “But done enough.”

“Good,” Sonny says.

Rafael taps his finger against the cover of the book still in Sonny’s hand. “Not exactly light weekend fare.”

“Nah,” Sonny agrees. “But it’s good. I forgot how good. I read it back in college.”

“It’s been awhile since I’ve read it,” Rafael admits. “I remember it being quietly unsettling.”

“Good way to put it,” Sonny says, tapping his chin with the book as he thinks for a moment. “The disturbing bits sorta creep up on you. Capote is good at that.” He thumbs through some of the pages. “You know, we had a whole lecture on this that was half of us arguing over whether Capote made some details up or not.”

Rafael hums and reaches out to put his arm behind Sonny on the couch, his fingers drifting to play with the hair at the back of Sonny’s neck. “What do you think?”

Sonny snorts. “He probably made part of it up. He was a writer, they embellish to sell a perspective or a story, it’s what they do. Does it matter?”

“Maybe not,” Rafael concedes, and then he cites, like the good lawyer and former lit major he is. “A thing may happen and be a total lie; another thing may not happen and be truer than the truth.”

Sonny brightens, recognizing what he’s saying as a quote. “That’s from that book about the Vietnam War.”

Rafael smiles, pleased that Sonny recognizes it. “ _The Things They Carried_.”

“That’s the one,” Sonny says, snapping his fingers. “That’s a good one too. So, hey.” Sonny shuffles over on the couch so they’re touching from shoulder to knee and he plants one of his hands on Rafael’s thigh. “Does being a lawyer change your perspective on O’Brien’s theory, there, on truth and fiction?”

“No.”

“No?”

Rafael’s having flashbacks to ethics courses and literature seminars, but it’s not unpleasant. It’s been awhile since he got to rhapsodize on any of this stuff for fun. “Truth is always shifting,” he says. 

“Studying law just makes you realize what’s true today was, if not a lie, than an incomplete truth and a lie of omission fifty years ago. We always strive for truth in the pursuit of justice, but sometimes truth in its totality is the enemy of justice and we need to downplay it in the narrative we’re selling to the jury.”

Sonny makes a noise to indicate he’s following, his eyes concentrating on Rafael like he’s a slide of lecture notes.

“If anything it makes me see O’Brien’s point more,” Rafael admits. “I’ve even lived it a couple times.”

Sonny huffs out a laugh. “Jeez,” he says, looking impressed. “I don’t know if I like it but I like how you put it, you know?”

“Good to know that if my current job ever implodes I can fall back on being a law professor.” Rafael has thought about it, from time to time, but his patience with co-eds (or, rather, his lack thereof) usually dissuades him from pursuing it.

Sonny chuckles and tightens his grip on Rafael’s thigh. “If you had been my law professor I might not have dropped out.”

Rafael does a bit of a double take at that and Sonny must catch it because he looks a bit sheepish. “You went to law school?”

“Went being the operative word,” Sonny says lightly before he sighs. “Uh, yeah. I was doing night classes at Fordham.”

“A cop and a law student,” Rafael says, impressed. Law school is a special sort of hell and Rafael’s not sure he could’ve held down a full time job and done law school at the same time, even just a couple courses in the evenings. He’s thankful his hard work was rewarded with a scholarship and work study so he got to spend his work hours in the library, a place he likely would have been anyway.

“Yup,” Sonny says, popping the last letter and slouching down on the couch. “Then my pops died and you know what happened after that.”

Rafael’s tempted to offer a trite “sorry” but decides against it, opting instead to press a kiss to Sonny’s clenched jaw. When he leans back Sonny has relaxed a bit and Rafael combs his hands through Sonny’s hair. “Do you miss it?”

Sonny almost looks paranoid, eyes darting around, like he’s worried someone will hear him when he says, “A little, yeah.” He leans into Rafael’s fingers, still brushing at his hair.

“Well,” Rafael says, a little aimlessly. He wants to help, but he really doesn’t know how to, not really. He can’t fix this. “I have a whole law library here. You’re more than welcome to it.”

“Thanks,” Sonny says. He lifts up _In Cold Blood_ and gestures with it towards to rest of the living room. “You know, first thing I noticed the first time you had me come over was all these books.”

Rafael does have an awful lot of them. His living room is more bookcase than anything else and that trend continues into the hallway, his study, and his bedroom.

Sonny looks pretty enamored with it, which bodes well for them. “This was basically my dream scenario as a kid,” he says.

“I had you pegged as one of those biking around the neighborhood and rolling in dirt kids,” Rafael says.

“I mean, I did plenty of that too,” Sonny says, rolling his eyes. “But I was also a total nerd. I just. I loved the research part from real young, you know? Finding a bug, looking it up, learning all about it.” “I had a bowl cut and buck teeth, too.”

Sonny groans as if he’s pained and takes Rafael’s face into his hands and kisses him. “Okay stop, I can’t actually handle that much cute,” Sonny says, smiling at the thought of little Rafael Barba. 

“I was pretty adorable,” Rafael says. 

“Yeah? Show me a photo.”

“Don’t push your luck.”

Sonny giggles and tilts his head so he’s resting it atop Rafael’s shoulder. Rafael drags his hands out of Sonny’s hair, finally, and reaches between them to take Sonny’s hand, intertwining their fingers. 

“I have to go soon,” Sonny says, like he wants to do anything else but that. “Teresa’s basement is flooding again and I promised her I’d look at it. Then I gotta meet Ma for five o’clock mass.”

“You go on Saturdays?”

“Sundays are kinda big bakery days,” Sonny says. “Turns out lots of people like to go to church, confess their sins, then buy a cupcake.”

“Gotta wash the stale taste of the eucharist out of your mouth somehow, I guess,” Rafael mutters. 

Sonny makes a face like he wants to laugh and he feels bad about it. He leans away from Rafael and crosses himself. Rafael can’t resist chasing after him and Sonny does finally laugh as he gives a show of resisting Rafael’s hands on him. “Get back, blasphemer, I don’t wanna get caught in the lightning when it strikes you dead.”

“Oh my god,” Rafael says. He shakes his head as he settles on top of Sonny, elbows bracketing his head. “You’re ridiculous,” he says affectionately. 

“See, I know you mean that as a compliment,” Sonny says, all smug grin and dimple again. He hooks his fingers in the waistband of Rafael’s sweatpants and tugs him down for a kiss. 

Rafael cradles Sony’s head in his hands and softens the kiss so it’s something lazy and sweet. He stays close, after, and presses his forehead to Sonny’s chest. “Don’t leave until you have to,” he requests, and if he makes it sound like a demand, he doesn’t really feel bad about it. 

He feels Sonny exhale, the rumble of his voice in his chest when he responds. “I won’t.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 God sees you lying
> 
> 2 Cuban slang, literally translates to "I shit on ten" which is a twist on "I shit on god" which is what you say when the universe fucks you up.


	2. Sonny

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapters will be alternating focus, Rafael, Sonny, Rafael Sonny. Here's Sonny. Parts 3 and 4 to come later in the week. 
> 
> Warnings in this chapter for parents being difficult and one canon off-screen family death (Rafael's abuela). As usual, any translations for any Spanish or Italian will be in the end notes.

“Sonny, I swear I tried to do it right this time.”

Sonny stares down at the sheet of amaretti cookies he’s preparing for the oven. Maybe if he just stares at the neat, orderly circles of dough long enough he’ll be able to face his sister without wanting to throw one of the neat, orderly circles of dough in her face. He finally ends his staring contest with the unbaked cookies and turns to face Bella. She’s wincing like she’s actually sorry about whatever it is she’s done, so that helps. 

“What happened?” he asks, already knowing it likely involves Bella’s favorite nemesis, the espresso machine.

“I think the hopper’s clogged.”

Sonny heaves out a sigh before he can check himself. “You can only pull one shot at a time, Bella, I’ve _told_ you.”

“I know. I’m sorry, I’m just distracted today, okay?” 

Sonny lifts the heavy sheet tray of amaretti, slides it into the oven and sets the timer stuck on the oven door for ten minutes. He walks past Bella to the front of the bakery and the clogged hopper. He glances at her as he mindlessly unclogs the thing. She looks she hasn’t been sleeping so good, her eyeliner is more smudged than usual, like she slept in it rather than put it on fresh this morning, her eyes are red and she’s frowning. 

“What’s up?” Sonny asks, now more worried about his sister than he is bothered by the clogged hopper. “If you need to cut out and go home--”

“It’s fine, I won’t ditch you like that,” she says, dusting non-existent flour off her apron. 

“You can tell me,” he says, dispensing a shot’s worth of coffee grounds from the fixed hopper into the portrafiltro for her. 

“It’s fine,” she insists, and Sonny knows better than to whine at her all day to just tell him. If she needs to stew for a little bit before she inevitably explodes into a flurry of flailing hands and word vomit, that’s fine. It buys Sonny some time to get work done before he’s inevitably drawn into whatever new sister-drama today brings. 

“Yeah alright, but let’s agree today isn’t the day you overcome your issues with the espresso machine,” he says dryly, cause he really doesn’t feel like cleaning up after her all day. 

“Agreed,” Bella says. The bell above the front door rings, announcing a customer entering the bakery. Sonny busies himself with finishing the drink Bella abandoned but takes note of Bella looking towards the front of the bakery, her attention on the entering customer. He also takes note of the disgusted face she makes. “I’m gonna hide in the back for a bit. I’m not in the mood to watch you go all gooey.”

“What?” Sonny turns towards the counter. Rafael’s standing in front of the pastry case wearing some kind of windbreaker top and _really_ tight workout pants. Next to him is a blonde woman, also in running gear, scowling at nothing and also somehow everything. 

“Ugh, bye,” Bella says. She takes the latte from Sonny’s hand, spins on her heel and marches into the back room.

“Hey, wait a minute, that latte was for _you_?” he shouts at her retreating form. Had he known that he definitely would’ve told her to go to hell before he unclogged the damn hopper. 

Bella shouts back, “You’re ignoring your customers!”

“Yeah, vafanap3,” Sonny grumbles in his sister’s general direction before he refocuses on Rafael and smiles again. “Hey there, Counselor. Here for the usual?”

“Usual?” The blonde woman asks, looking intrigued now.

Rafael looks towards the ceiling all, _give me strength_. “Yes. Please. Plus whatever bribery pastry the detective picks out.”

Sonny laughs and leans his elbow on the pastry case, head in his hand. “Are you making me an accessory, here, Counselor?” 

“Oh, lord,” the woman drawls and she looks Sonny up and down. “Please tell me you’re at least already sleeping with him.”

“Yup,” Sonny says brightly. Rafael looks like he regrets his decision to come into the bakery or possibly his whole life. “And if he wants to make me the Bonnie to his Clyde I guess I’m okay with that, so what’ll it be, Detective?”

She narrows her gaze at Sonny but then seems to decide that whatever point she’s trying to make by frowning isn’t worth missing out on pastry. She jabs at the glass. “Cannoli.”

“Classic flavor?”

“Yeah, let’s not gild the lily,” she says with a judgemental snort.

Sonny nods approvingly and offers her his hand. “Sonny Carisi.”

“Amanda Rollins,” she says, shaking his hand firmly. “Let me ask you a very important question, Carisi.”

Sonny glances at Rafael who is looking a bit worried, like he’s not sure what’s going to come out of Amanda’s mouth. “Yeah, shoot.”

“Have you seen the Great British Bake Off?” She’s grinning like she knows she may have just given Rafael a small heart attack and Sonny laughs. 

“ _Have_ I. I’m almost insulted by the question, Detective.” 

Rafael sighs, clearly having decided to play the role of long-suffering partner this morning. “I regret introducing you.”

“Technically, you didn’t,” Sonny says, correcting him. He stuffs some biscotti (lately Rafael’s baked good of choice) into a bag and holds it out for him with one hand, the other grasping at his own chest melodramatically. “It’s like you don’t want me to meet the people you work with.”

Rafael grabs the bag and gives Sonny a flat look before saying, in an equally flat tone, “Amanda this is Sonny. We’re dating. Sonny, this is Amanda. We work together.” Rafael flaps his hand in the air like, _there_. The effect is only slightly lessened by the fact that a second introduction was unnecessary. 

Sonny pipes ricotta into a cannoli shell and slides it into a small plastic to-go container. “Pleased to meet you, Amanda,” he says, handing her the cannoli with a grin. 

“You’re deeply annoying,” Rafael says. 

“I’m making your coffee right now, babe,” Sonny says with a wink and he moves over to the espresso machine to prepare Rafael’s cuban. 

He can barely hear Amanda and Rafael over the sound of the hopper and the espresso machine but he _can_ hear them. 

“That is your boyfriend,” Amanda says disbelievingly. 

“I prefer the term partner, but, yes,” Rafael says. “If you’re thinking we’re an odd pair I understand.”

“I was actually thinking you two sort of...fill each other’s gaps.”

Sonny tries not to give away that he can hear them as he pours Rafael’s coffee but he looks at Rafael out of the corner of his eye and Rafael is looking right back at him, smiling. 

“I’m tempted to make a crude joke, but I won’t ruin the sentiment,” Rafael says to Amanda, still looking at Sonny. “Thank you, Detective.”

Sonny fumbles a bit putting the lid on Rafael’s coffee but he gets it on there and delivers it to Rafael’s waiting hand. He can’t help but have his eyes drift down to Rafael’s tight running pants again. 

“Feel free to stop by in those pants anytime, Counselor,” Sonny says, smirking. 

“Jogging is not a hobby I plan on keeping,” Rafael says bitterly. 

“Aw, I like running,” Sonny says. “And I like those pants. On you.”

“I go running a lot, if you ever need a buddy,” Amanda offers, raising a hand. 

“Yeah?” Sonny can’t hide how pleased he is at the idea of possibly having one of Rafael’s coworkers as a friend. “We can talk favorite Bake Off contestant.”

“Nadiya, hands down,” Amanda declares, leaving no room for debate.

Sonny claps his hands, points at Amanda and says, “I knew I liked you, Detective.”

“Oh no, what’ve I done,” Rafael says in a monotone. He smiles at Sonny from over the lid of his coffee. 

“Give your guy my number, Barba,” Amanda says, backhanding Rafael on the shoulder. Rafael doesn’t appear to appreciate being smacked, even in a friendly sort of way, if his renewed scowl is any indication. Not that Amanda notices, she’s busy raising her cannoli at Sonny in a goodbye salute. “We’ll figure something out, okay?”

Sonny waves as Amanda leaves and then walks around the pastry case to stand next to Rafael, reaching a gentle hand out to rub at his smacked shoulder. He smiles at him then leans in for a soft kiss hello. “Wanted to do that earlier, but figured maybe not with your coworker there and everything…”

“Good call,” Rafael says, patting Sonny’s apron-covered chest. 

“You brought your coworker here,” Sonny says, unable to contain his glee any longer. “You wanted her to try my pastry.”

“I wanted to give her a decent bribe in exchange for testifying for me,” Rafael corrects. 

“Details,” Sonny says dismissively, flapping his hands in the air. 

“I had a suspicion you’d get along,” Rafael admits, finally dropping the act of reluctant mediator. Which means Rafael has spent a not-insignificant amount of time thinking about how Sonny would get along with his co-workers, which makes Sonny feel pretty freaking thrilled. “I caught up with her close by, realized where we were, and...well, you know the rest.”

“Thank you for introducing us,” Sonny says. “Thank you for using my pastries as a bribe, you clearly think very highly of them--”

“Maybe.”

“--and thank you for wearing these pants in my presence,” Sonny finishes and he can’t keep his hands from Rafael’s hips any longer. 

“The pants again,” Rafael says, amused. 

“They’re really tight and they’re on _you_ ,” Sonny says in his own defense. “I’m not sure how I’m not supposed to mention the pants.”

Rafael chuckles and takes Sonny’s hands in his, squeezing them. “Well, my pants and I have to get ready for work now.” He leans up and kisses Sonny, slow and lazy, like he would really rather not have to rush off to work after all. When he finally takes a step back from Sonny he tilts his head in apology and offers up a small smile. “Thank you for helping me ply a police detective with pastries.”

“No problem, but if we get caught, I don’t know you,” Sonny says, watching Rafael reluctantly walk slowly towards the door. 

Rafael snorts. “You’d absolutely go down with me.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Sonny admits. “Call me later.”

Rafael just smiles again and backs out the door, leaving Sonny, smiling alone in his bakery like a goof. He tries to knock himself out of it, running his hands through his hair and wiping the still-young day’s collection of fingerprints off the pastry case. He stalls long enough that he thinks he doesn’t look like a total goober and walks into the back room. 

Bella’s sitting at the prep table, scooping amaretti cookies onto a tray, the tray Sonny had put in the oven earlier out cooling. She looks up at Sonny and rolls her eyes, so maybe Sonny didn’t do such a great job wiping the grin off his face after all.

“You are too much,” she says in the long-suffering sibling tone she’s been wielding against him for years. “It’s been long enough now, aren’t you past the honeymoon period?”

“Like you don’t still get stupid over Tommy,” Sonny says knowingly. “There was that drive to Atlantic City I had to put up with the two of you making out in the back of my honda, so--”

“Alright, alright,” Bella says loudly, surrendering. She finishes the row of cookies she’s working on and sets the scooper down so she can put her hands on her hips. “I’m glad he makes you happy, Sonny.”

Sonny feels himself blushing a bit and distracts himself from it by collecting what he needs to make a new batch of muffins. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“Still not telling Mom though, huh?”

Sonny puts down his measuring cups. He knows from unfortunate experience that he can’t talk about shit like this and bake at the same time. Baking is not like cooking. Cooking Sonny can do while simultaneously having a shouting conversation with any member of his family. Baking is exact, it requires focus and precise measuring. Sonny once had a loud “conversation” with his dad about going to law school and tried to bake at the same time and accidentally made croissants that could double as roof tiles, they were so hard. 

“Not yet,” he says with finality. “I’ve thought about it, but she’s...you know how she is.”

“High strung? Still in mourning?” Bella gives a full body shrug and her hands come back to her side with a loud slap. “Depending on you for literally freaking everything?”

“Yeah, all of the above,” Sonny says with an unamused laugh. 

*

Sometimes Sonny looks at all he needs to accomplish in one day and wants to hide under his bed. He used to do it quite a lot as a kid. Whenever he’d feel overwhelmed he’d just move his plastic bins full of barbies and ninja turtles over a bit so he could lay down on his back beneath his bed and stare up at the wooden slats keeping his mattress from falling down on his face. 

The bakery doesn’t have a bed he can crawl under or a real office to speak of, but sometimes he sits on the bottom shelf of his prep table, his long legs stretched out in front of him, his back hunched so he can fit under the thing, and he stares down at his to do list and tries not to get mad or sad or panicky. It’s not quite the same but it helps, a little. 

He’s trying to figure out how he can even see Rafael this week and do everything else he plans on doing. He owes his one distributer a conversation cause Sonny suspects he’s getting over charged on eggs, of all things, his sister Gina wants him to come over and fix her fence, Teresa has been needling him to go shopping, his friend Billy from college is getting married and wants to talk cake options, his mom keeps making noise about not having seen his grandparents for a while and that involves a whole drive to New Jersey and back, and then there’s, you know, his job and everything, which requires him to get up at 4am to bake bread and shit. 

He glances at the calendar and realizes it’s almost end of month and he’ll need to add inventory to his list and swallows a curse. 

“Sonny?”

Bella again, and she better not have broken the damn espresso machine today. “Yeah?”

Her legs come into view before her face does as she bends down to look at him. “The fuck you doing under there?”

“Drowning,” he snipes and waves his notepad at her. He only notices a moment later that her eyes are red and puffy again and she’s definitely been crying. “Shit, what’s wrong?”

Bella makes a small squeaking noises and moves to sit next to him, shoving him over on the prep table shelf. She takes a shaky breath through her mouth and then blurts, “I’m pregnant.”

“No shit,” Sonny says, excited. When Bella just glares at him he tries again, this time aiming for disappointed. “I mean. No? Shit.”

Bella groans and buries her head in her hands. “I don’t know,” she admits. 

“You love Tommy,” Sonny says, at a loss of what else to really say. 

“Sure, yeah,” Bella says before she laughs darkly. “But kids are freaking expensive, Sonny. And Tommy hasn’t been able to find work. We’re _barely_ keeping it together with what I make here and at the bar at night.”

“Okay, okay, yeah,” Sonny says, pulling her close for an awkward one-armed hug. “What if we, I mean, what if I gave Tommy some more shifts at the bakery, huh?”

Bella swipes at her eyes and frowns at him. “Can we afford that?”

No, they really can’t, and Sonny’s probably gonna give himself another pay cut in order to pull it off. “Sure we can,” he tells Bella. Because this is his job now, this is his bakery, this is his little sister, and he needs to do this. “It’ll give me some more time to get shit done and see Rafael, too. Everyone wins.”

“Alright,” Bella says, sniffling. “Only if you’re _sure_ it’s doable.”

“Totally doable, completely doable, I am a doing machine,” Sonny says, mostly to make Bella laugh, which she does, along with a hefty eye roll. 

“I’m gonna call Tommy,” she says, shakily scooting out from under the table and getting to her feet. “Oh and I need that batch of afternoon tricolor cookies. The Knights of Columbus up the street has their meeting tonight, you know they’re gonna want some.”

“Yeah, okay, I’m on it,” Sonny says, pasting a smile on for her that he doesn’t let fade away until he hears her leave the room. He clicks his pen and writes “flag cookies” on his to do list and feels the small flame of panic in his stomach fan into something brighter. 

*

Training Tommy is different than trusting Tommy to stick a bunch of pre-made pre-measured baked goods in the oven. This, this is teaching and believing that Tommy will soon be able to produce something Sonny will feel comfortable selling with his family’s name on it. It comes along with a whole new, heavy feeling Sonny already hates. 

It doesn’t start off great. Sonny has to count to one hundred, in his head, in Italian, the first time Tommy botches a batch of muffins. Bella had only had one request before this started, and it was: try not to be a total know-it-all control freak. So, here he is. Trying. 

“Okay, well, now we know, set the timer every time,” Sonny says, straining his voice and his patience. Tommy is still whole and in the kitchen and making a new batch of muffins, so it’s fine, everything’s fine.

“I’ll remember next time,” Tommy tells him earnestly and Sonny feels any lingering anger melt away. Tommy’s trying, he really is, and he and Bella need this to work. 

“I know you will,” Sonny says. He taps his fingers against the top of the prep table and wishes he could crawl underneath it and not have Tommy wonder what the hell was going on. 

Training goes slow, for Tommy’s sake as well as Sonny’s. By the end of the week Sonny has to admit Tommy’s improving. Even if Sonny’s nervousness over the whole situation isn’t. 

It’d help if maybe the big positive for Sonny in this would work out. With Tommy picking up shifts, Sonny’s supposed to have free time to see Rafael, but Sonny’s schedule refuses to cooperate with Rafael’s. Something blows up at work and Rafael basically goes incommunicado, though he at least apologizes for it before vanishing in a flurry of legal nonsense. Sonny gets it, he does, but by Thursday he’s a new kind of tired, exhausted from his job, weary from having to explain every step in the bakery to Tommy, and exasperated with his mother, who chooses now to bother him about driving to New Jersey again.

“Sonny I was serious about going to see your grandparents,” his ma says. 

Sonny glances up from his phone and tries to keep his face neutral. “Yeah, I know. It’s not that easy, though.”

He texts Rafael, _how you holding up?_

“It’s not that bad of a drive,” his mother argues as she washes the dishes from their quick dinner. “I know it’s not your favorite but it’s not worth all the complaining you do about it.”

“Ma, I know,” Sonny says, rubbing at his temple. “I just don’t think I can get away from the bakery.” His phone pings with an incoming message. Rafael’s just sent him a skull emoji. That more than anything else concerns Sonny a bit. Rafael likes to rib Sonny for his use of emojis; _he’d_ only use them if he were really out of words to describe the situation. 

“Bella told me you agreed to give Tommy hours, why can’t he cover for you?”

Sonny groans. “Cause he doesn’t know everything yet, Ma, he _just_ started.” 

His mother snorts and crosses herself as she shakes her head. “This wouldn’t be a problem if your sister dated someone with a real job.”

“This wouldn’t be a problem if you would just renew your license,” Sonny grumbles. His mother hasn’t driven in years, his dad always took care of it. After he died, she didn’t feel any need to change it and it wasn’t a problem, really, at first, when Teresa and Gina were helping a bit more, but now it’s just Sonny. Bella never bothered to learn to drive, and now she and Tommy are in Manhattan and Tommy can drive her if she absolutely needs to get something. Sonny plays with the idea of offering Tommy up as a driver to his mother but stops himself since he’s pretty sure that would end with one of them stranded in the middle of the Garden State Parkway.

He types out another message to Rafael. _You eat?_

_Not since this morning_

_I can stop by?_

_It’s late. For bakers._

It kind of is, Sonny should head to bed in the next hour or two if he wants to be coherent in the morning when he heads into work. 

“Sonny I don’t know why you make me beg you for a ride, every time,” his mother grouses and she’s definitely clanging the plates together with way more force than is necessary which means Sonny’s got maybe another minute or two before this turns into a full blown guilt-fest. 

“Ma, I gotta step out,” he says, yanking his jacket off his chair and shoving his feet in his shoes. 

“What? Where?”

“One of my college buddies wants to catch up,” he says vaguely. 

She squints at him from the kitchen sink like she wants to say she disapproves. When Sonny had moved back in, his mom had given him a nice little speech about how he was an adult and his life was his life, but old habits die hard, especially among Italian widows. “Alright, just remember it’s a school night.”

“Jeez, Ma, I’m not ten,” he says and kisses her cheek as he bustles past her to the back door. He doesn’t totally exhale until he’s outside in the chilly air. 

It’s the work of a few minutes to call his favorite sandwich place and then a much longer process to drive into Manhattan to Rafael’s office. Driving into Manhattan is never fun, really, though Sonny does it enough that it's practically become background noise. It’s a bad idea, probably, to drive all the way there, just to drive back to Staten Island, sleep for a few hours, and then drive back to Manhattan to open up the bakery. A really, really, bad idea. 

It’s hard to care about that at all, though, when Sonny sees the look on Rafael’s face when he shows up at his office.

“You really didn’t have to come,” Rafael says. 

“Wanted to,” Sonny says. 

“I really didn’t think you would,” Rafael admits and that’s how Sonny knows he’s tired, for sure. Rafael is pretty buttoned up, which isn’t to say he can’t be vulnerable or sweet, it just tends to come when he’s feeling safe and comfortable and Sonny’s used to seeing it the most when it’s the two of them at Rafael’s apartment, the strict if flamboyant wardrobe of the ADA long discarded. Seeing Rafael like this surrounded by the trappings of his office is a bit discomfiting, makes Sonny want to bundle him up and usher him out of the building, to be honest. 

“Someone’s gotta remind you to eat between bouts of saving the world,” Sonny says, lifting up the bags with the sandwiches in it. 

Rafael yanks his tie open and snorts. “Trust me. What I’m doing right now...I’m not sure it’s saving much of anything.”

Since Sonny can’t shove Rafael out of the office, he instead shuffles him over to the large leather couch, gently pushes him down on it and plants the sandwich bag down in front of him. “The Jerome Jones mess started way before you.” When Rafael pauses unwrapping his sandwich to look up at Sonny in surprise Sonny says dryly, “I read the paper, Counselor.”

Rafael’s mouth twitches up into a smirk. “On actual paper and everything, huh?”

“No, on my ipad,” he says and he takes a seat next to Rafael. “You’re a bit of a luddite.”

“I have an ipad of my own,” Rafael argues. “I’m just maybe a bit nostalgic. About paper. And pens.”

Sonny hums and leans back against the arm of the couch. “Sure, right.”

“I used an emoji and everything when I texted you.”

“You did, I was very proud,” Sonny says and he laughs at the glare Rafael directs at him.

Rafael gestures at the second sandwich in the bag as he cracks open a bottle of water. “Aren’t you eating?”

“I ate before,” Sonny explains. “That’s for you for tomorrow, just in case it ends up as busy as today.”

Rafael stares at him for a long moment before slowly putting his water down. “You drove here just to bring me dinner.”

Sonny squirms a little under the weight of Rafael’s stare and shrugs. “Yeah. No big deal.”

Rafael tugs at Sonny’s jacket sleeve, pulling him in for a quick kiss. “Thank you,” he says. “You’re nice.”

Sonny wrinkles his nose in protest. “That again. You know, you’re nice, too.”

Rafael snorts. “I’m really not.”

He’s not, but he’s brilliant and he works hard and he cares so much. “No, you’re not,” Sonny agrees. “But you’re good.”

That earns him another stare. Rafael meticulously flattens the paper his sandwich came in, then folds it, again, and again, and again, until it’s a small triangle he can neatly slide back in the bag. After that he meets Sonny’s eyes again, but he doesn’t seem ready or willing to speak. 

Sonny fills the quiet for him. “It wasn’t totally unselfish, anyway. Coming here. My ma was kind of driving me up a wall.”

Rafael hums between bites of his sandwich. “Can’t imagine it’s easy, living with her overhead.”

“Not so much,” Sonny says at an octave higher than his usual, which earns him a low chuckle from Rafael. “Coming here to make sure you ate sounded a whole lot better. Plus, you know, we haven’t had a chance to see each other much lately.”

Rafael’s hand drifts over to rest on Sonny’s knee. “I know. This case went sideways, then just to be difficult, went upside down and backwards too.”

“Some physics,” Sonny says. “It’s not just on you, though. I’ve been bouncing all week between the bakery and my sisters’ places and my ma’s.” He gives in to the urge to fall sideways and rests his head on Rafael’s thigh. Rafael, not missing a beat, moves his hand to rest first on Sonny’s shoulder, then his head, fingers playing with his hair.

“It happens,” Rafael says. 

“Crazy cases? Sisters who can’t install their own dishwashers?”

“Life.” Rafael looks down at him warmly. “You installed your sister’s dishwasher?”

Sonny groans and buries his face in Rafael’s leg. “Mostly. I’m half worried she’s gonna turn it on the first time and it’s gonna spit plates at her or something.” Rafael laughs again and his fingers press more firmly on Sonny’s head, lightly messaging at his scalp before running through his hair again. “I don’t really wanna even think about it.”

“Want me to tell you about my case?”

Sonny peers up at Rafael. “If you wanna tell me about it, sure.”

“Might help to talk to someone about it that isn’t myself or my paralegal,” Rafael replies dryly. 

“Dunno how much help I’ll be.”

Rafael gives him a very unimpressed look. “Don’t insult yourself, and me, by insinuating you wouldn’t be able to follow.”

“Well, I mean--”

“You were a cop. You had almost a full year at Fordham before you had to drop out.” 

Sonny rolls his eyes and huffs out a breath against Rafael’s thigh. “Alright, okay.”

Rafael babbles about his case. About how the DA has been checking up on him too much and 1PP’s collective blood pressure is somewhere near the moon. He talks about needing to take this to trial even if no one wants him to, even if sometimes he doesn’t want to either. He talks and talks, his fingers drifting through Sonny’s hair, down the back of his neck then back up again. 

Sonny doesn’t mean to fall asleep, but he does. He wakes up to Rafael’s not-so-gentle nudging and blinks until Rafael’s smirking face comes into focus above him. 

“Shit, I’m sorry, Raf,” Sonny grumbles, rubbing his eyes. 

“It’s okay, I knew I had you up past your bedtime,” he says, altogether far too amused with himself. 

“Ha. Ha. Ha,” Sonny says. He slowly pushes himself upright and tries to comb his hair back into some sort of working order. He’ll need a couple minutes and maybe a stop at a bodega for some coffee before he can safely drive himself back home. 

“You can’t drive like this,” Rafael says, because he’s a mind reader, probably, in addition to somehow being able to carry off any pattern of tie. 

“I’ll be fine, just gimme a minute,” Sonny says dismissively. 

Rafael rolls his eyes at him. “Look, I don’t know how much longer I’ll be here, but why don’t you sleep at my place?”

“Yeah?” Sonny rubs at his face a bit. He’d really like to not have to drive home right now. Sleeping at Rafael’s place, among Rafael’s things sounds pretty nice. Even if Rafael won’t be there. “You sure?”

“I wouldn’t have suggested it if I wasn’t,” Rafael says. He walks to his desk and digs into his bag for a moment before he plucks out a small key ring. He tosses it at Sonny, who manages to catch it one-handed, even as tired as he is. “I’ll be along. At some point.”

“Good.” He gets to his feet and tugs Rafael in for a sleepy hug. “Remember you need sleep too.”

“I mostly survive on caffeine and wit,” he argues, but he clings to Sonny a bit and smiles at him. 

“Keep telling yourself that, babe,” he says before nosing at Rafael’s cheek and kissing him to distraction. 

Rafael goes along with it for a minute, mouth opening up under Sonny with a moan. “Menace,” he hisses after finally catching on, remembering he was meant to be ushering Sonny out of his office. Sonny laughs and shrugs, not sorry much, if at all. 

“I’ll see you later,” he says and has to kiss Rafael’s cheek before he can pull himself away completely. 

Rafael stares after him, eyes full of intent. “Yes. You will.”

*

Sonny’s alarm goes off later than usual the next morning, but still earlier than anyone who isn’t a baker or an obscene morning person would like. It takes him a little longer to find his phone and fumble the alarm off, his mind half a step behind at remembering he’s at Rafael’s and he sleeps on the left side here, not the right. By the time he jabs his phone quiet and lies back down he’s awake enough to recognize the muted light streaming in through Rafael’s curtains, the sinfully soft sheets under his body and the sound of Rafael breathing deep next to him. 

Sonny stretches a bit, rubs at his eyes and watches the slow rise and fall of Rafael’s chest. He lets himself just look at the other man for a moment, soft and quiet and beautiful in the dim morning light. It’s hard to leave him and get into the shower but Sonny’s already slept in--well, for him, anyway--and needs to get moving. He stands under the hot and punishing pressure of Rafael’s shower for a few minutes longer than he would if he were at home, then hurries to dry himself off and put on yesterday’s clothes.

He’s so busy yanking on his shirt he misses that Rafael isn’t in bed anymore. When Sonny walks into the living room and spots Rafael standing by the stove he blinks at him, confused. 

“What’re you doing up?” He crosses into the kitchen and walks around the bar to kiss Rafael good morning. 

“I need to get back to work,” Rafael grumbles, taking a long swig of coffee. He pushes the full french press in Sonny’s direction. “And I wanted to see you off.”

Sonny squirms a bit, pleased, and smiles at Rafael. “You didn’t have to.”

“I know.” Rafael groans, like he’s in pain. “Believe me. I know.”

Sonny pours himself a coffee and laughs. “You’re cute when you’re raging at the dawn, you know?”

“No,” Rafael says firmly, and whether he’s rejecting the cute part or the whole statement, Sonny doesn’t know, because Rafael doesn’t elaborate. He just scowls at nothing in particular and drinks more coffee. 

“Thanks for making me coffee,” Sonny says, all sing-song, and slides his arm around Rafael’s waist. 

“I made me coffee,” Rafael corrects. “I’m just letting you have some.”

“Sure, sure,” Sonny says, his smile refusing to dim. If anything Rafael’s usual morning cranky pants routine just makes Sonny happier. 

Rafael seems to know this, too, because he leans into Sonny, lets him effectively hold his still-tired body upright in the kitchen. “You might not see much of me for the next couple days. Not until the trial is over.”

“That’s okay,” Sonny says even though it’s not, because it’s not like there’s much either of them can do about it. “Text me? Or call. Whenever.”

Rafael leans back against Sonny and puts his empty coffee cup on the counter. “Okay.”

Sonny releases Rafael because he’s starting to look at the french press longingly and Sonny needs to dig into his pants and pull out Rafael’s spare key. He sets it down on the counter next to the now empty french press as Rafael takes a dip sip from his refilled mug. Rafael looks at the key, then at Sonny, then back at the key and pushes the key towards Sonny. 

“Keep it,” he says. 

Sonny picks up the key and flips it over in his fingers. “You sure?”

Rafael focuses on his coffee. “I’m always sure,” he says, the bravado of his words not quite matching his soft tone, a slight insecure giveaway. 

Sonny shoves the key back into his pocket before either of them can think about it too hard for much longer. “Okay then.”

“Use it. This week.” Rafael shrugs. “If you don’t feel like driving back to Staten Island again.”

Sonny laughs. “If I do that too much, my family will probably report me missing.”

“It’s your life, not theirs,” Rafael quips and it takes a beat for him to realize maybe that was harsh and he squeezes Sonny’s hand as a belated attempt to soften his jab. 

“I know that,” Sonny insists. “I do.”

“Okay,” Rafael says, but Sonny’s not convinced that Rafael believes him. Rafael shrugs at him and drinks his coffee. Sonny wants to push the matter, but also doesn’t--doesn’t want to ruin a nice morning, Rafael giving him a key. That and he really does need to get going. 

“Good luck with the case,” Sonny says, finding his jacket on the back of the sofa and shrugging it on. 

“Don’t need luck,” Rafael says loudly. “I’ve got talent. And the law.”

“I know, Counselor,” Sonny says sweetly, cutting him off before this turns into an early morning diatribe about justice. He presses Rafael back against the fridge and kisses him, reveling in the lingering taste of coffee on Rafael’s lips, the rough tug of Rafael’s morning stubble. “How about you just have a good day then, huh?”

Rafael’s mouth quirks up into a lopsided smile, smug and satisfied. “You too.”

*

Sonny likes to think he’s in fairly good shape. You wouldn’t think it, but there’s a lot of heavy lifting and cardio involved in running a bakery. So, yeah, he’s doing pretty okay, fitness-wise.

Half an hour into working out with Amanda Rollins and he realizes that there’s his version of okay and there’s whatever planet Rollins is living on. She seems to attack working out like it personally insulted her mother--everything is a push and a growl and Sonny kind of wants to take a running leap into the Hudson just to escape. 

“Okay, five minute break,” Rollins says and Sonny bends in half to catch his breath and also thank the Virgin Mary. Rollins uncaps her water and takes a swig from it, eyeing him approvingly. “You know, you’re keeping up with me pretty well. I did not have high expectations.”

“Ah yeah, thanks for that,” Sonny says dryly, taking out his own water bottle. 

“I mean, no offense,” she says and at least half sounds like she means it. 

Sonny waves her off. “It’s fine. I always liked running. I haven’t done it in a while, but. When I was little my pop used to challenge me to run around the outside of the house.”

She laughs. “And you did it.”

Sonny shakes his head at his younger self and shrugs. “And I did it.” It was a clear last-ditch effort on his father’s part to get an overly-excited Sonny to run off some excess energy, but its not like he knew that at seven years old. 

“Well you may be a little gullible but you’re a good runner,” Rollins says.

“Used to be better,” Sonny says. A glance at his watch tells him that his previous mile time is a fond memory. “I had the best mile time of my class at the academy.”

Rollins hums, her interest apparently peaked. “You were a cop.”

“Yeah,” Sonny says and he looks away across the river for something, anything, to look at to focus himself and his thoughts. “It was a while ago.”

“Barba didn’t mention that.”

Sonny didn’t expressly ask him not to, but Rafael probably aired on the side of caution there, and Sonny’s grateful for it. “It’s a little weird, I guess. Going from cop to baker.”

Rollins seems to pick up that he’s feeling a little awkward and she punches his arm in a “buck up, buddy” sort of way and smiles at him. “Maybe a little. Unless you really buy into the whole cops and donuts cliche.”

“I do _not_ sell donuts at my bakery.”

“No? Not even those little piles of fried dough covered in honey?” She arches an eyebrow at him like she’s got him dead to rights. 

“Alright, look, zeppoli are totally different,” Sonny argues and Amanda just laughs at him, which seems fair. “Come by the bakery later, I’ll show you.”

“I mean, you ask me, fried dough is fried dough is fried dough,” Amanda says with an exaggerated shrug. “But like hell am I gonna refuse free fried dough.”

“Free fried dough and a lecture on Italian tradition,” Sonny says, pointedly. 

“Still.” She stretches her arms over her head then plants her hands on her hips and swivels side to side. “Alright, one more burst of cardio and then I’ll release you from my torment.”

“Alright.” Sonny glances at his watch again. “I should be back in enough time that if my sister’s boyfriend’s screwed up too bad, I can fix it.”

“There’s a benefit to predawn workouts,” she concedes. “You really think he’ll botch it?”

Sonny sighs. “Yes and no.” If he were thinking clearly, if the monster gnawing at his stomach were a little quieter, maybe he’d feel okay about letting Tommy open, unsupervised, with his own baked goods. He can’t help but think about what could be burning, the money they could be losing in both ingredients and final sales. He closes his eyes and sees a ledger in red. 

“Alright, buddy,” she says, clapping her hands. “Let’s do some running, come on, it’ll take your mind off your burning bakery.”

Sonny groans. “Don’t even joke.”

She smirks at him and starts jogging backwards away from him, waving at him to get going. Sonny groans and says another small prayer for his already aching muscles before he bursts into movement to catch up with Amanda. 

By the time he leaves Amanda he’s sweaty and tired and desperately in need of a shower. He could probably just go straight to the bakery, and the part of him that’s still anxious as hell about Tommy opening without him wants to do just that. But he also really needs to stand under some hot water for a while and the key to Rafael’s apartment is burning a hole in Sonny’s pocket. 

He lets himself into Rafael’s apartment and smiles when he sees signs of the last time he was over still scattered around the apartment--his backup jacket by the door, the book he’d pulled to cite in an argument with Rafael still open on the coffee table. He walks to the bedroom and his smile grows as he hears the sound of the shower going and realizes where Rafael is. Sonny quickly strips out of his damp workout gear and walks to the bathroom door, which is barely closed. 

“Raf, it’s me,” Sonny calls out, not wanting to give Rafael a heart attack.

“Hey,” a drowsy Rafael responds. Sonny waits a beat for more of a response, then remembers just how hopeless Rafael can be before his morning coffee and realizes he’s not getting one. To Rafael a “hey” is probably the peak of politeness when one is trying to talk to him first thing in the morning. Sonny rolls his eyes and pushes open the door to the bathroom. 

Rafael has a large claw foot tub he’d been maybe a little too proud to show off to Sonny the first time he’d come over. Sonny’s never been over when they’d had the time to use the tub as it’s meant to be used, but it makes for a shower just fine too and offers more room than Sonny is used to getting in a New York apartment. Sonny pops his head around the shower curtain and grins at a sleepily blinking Rafael. 

“Can I join you?”

“Do it fast, you’re letting the cold air in,” Rafael grumps. 

“Yes, dear,” Sonny replies, climbing into the tub behind Rafael. Thankfully the shower head is large enough that they can both be under enough of the hot water that it’s not uncomfortable. 

“Sorry, yes, hi,” Rafael says quickly, like he suddenly remembered it’s the nice thing to do when your partner surprises you, naked, in the shower. He tugs Sonny closer and kisses him. 

“Hey,” Sonny says softly, trailing his fingertips up Rafael’s side before settling firmly on his waist. “Heard your latest nightmare case finally ended.”

Rafael tips his head back directly into the stream of water for a second like he’s a turkey trying to drown in the rain or something, then looks at Sonny, dripping and exhausted. “Thankfully, yes. How did you know? I didn’t even get to text you last night before I passed out.”

“Went jogging with Rollins this morning, she told me.” Sonny bends to pick up Rafael’s body wash and winces. “Though. Jogging isn’t really the right word.”

“Extreme jogging?”

“More like total boot camp.”

Rafael pats his shoulder half heartedly. “Poor baby.”

“You’re _mocking_ my pain,” Sonny says and he doesn’t even try to resist the urge to pout at Rafael. 

“Little bit,” Rafael admits, taking the body wash from Sonny. “I did warn you, though.” 

He had. When Sonny announced he’d texted Amanda to set up a workout and then suggested Rafael join them, Rafael had gone slightly wild-eyed, firmly said “never again” and then warned Sonny he may live to regret it too.

“You did. I didn’t listen,” Sonny says, mostly to see Rafael look smug, it’s a hot look on him. “Pity me, though. I’m aching, here.”

“Oh I am, don’t worry,” Rafael says. He lathers up his hands with the body wash before pressing his fingers into Sonny’s sore muscles, messaging soap into Sonny’s chest, his shoulders, his arms. “Turn around,” he instructs when he’s done with Sonny’s front. Sonny, in a bit of a daze from Rafael touching him, making him all warm and soapy, takes a second but eventually obeys, turning his back to Rafael. 

Sonny groans when Rafael’s hands press at one particularly sore spot at the small of his back. “You’re real good at this,” he says, tipping his head back. 

“I’ll keep that in mind if my legal career ever craters,” Rafael says dryly, but he pushes his fingers even harder into Sonny’s back and Sonny groans again appreciatively and bends into him. Rafael grips Sonny by the hips and slowly turns him in place so they’re facing each other again. Rafael thoughtfully steps out of the spray a bit so the suds can wash off Sonny’s body. “Better?”

Sonny hums and replies by taking Rafael’s head in his hands and meeting him for a kiss that starts deep and just a little dirty. It’s real easy in the wet heat of the shower, with all of Rafael’s skin damp and on display in front of him, to just go for it, suck Rafael’s tongue into his mouth and lose himself in the movement of their mouths against each other. Sonny’s panting a bit when they part and he tilts his forehead against Rafael’s. 

“We got time, you think?” 

“I don’t think I care if we don’t,” Rafael says honestly and promptly reaches down to wrap his fingers around Sonny’s dick. 

“Okay, then, yup,” Sonny babbles and he shoves himself closer to Rafael before kissing him. 

There’s not a whole lot of space in the tub for anything real complicated, and they don’t have the time anyway. Not to mention having Rafael give him a massage has sent Sonny careening towards orgasm a little quicker than he’d ordinarily like to admit. He thinks he’s a thoughtful sorta guy in bed, he likes taking care of his partners, genuinely enjoys giving them pleasure first with a sort of laser focus Rafael has definitely (gently) mocked him for. Sonny’s kinda lost the plot this morning though, either because he’s tired or Rafael got a head start with the soapy massage or what, either way he just sort of clings to Rafael, all wandering hands and desperate kisses. 

“Jeez, Raf,” Sonny gasps against Rafael’s temple, his nails biting into Rafael’s shoulder as he feels himself starting to come. Rafael just tilts his face up and meets him for a kiss and lets Sonny cling to him as he shakes through his orgasm. “Shit,” Sonny says after, pressing kisses along Rafael’s neck. He’s slurring a bit, sleepy from his workout and sex, when he asks Rafael what he wants. “If we get out of the tub, I can blow you.”

Rafael laughs, either at his distrust of his ability to carry out a blow job in the bathtub or his dopey face or both. “It’s fine, just give me your hand,” he says, tugging at Sonny until he wakes up enough to follow and grips Rafael’s cock. 

“Okay, yeah,” Sonny says. He can do that, he can definitely jerk Rafael off. He doesn’t start with soft touches, just immediately moves his hand, tight and fast, over Rafael’s cock while his other hand grips at the hair at the back of Rafael’s neck. He pulls Rafael in for a kiss that’s all teeth and tongue and hears Rafael’s breath hitch when Sonny bites at Rafael’s lower lip. 

Sonny likes that he knows Rafael’s tells, now. He knows that Rafael’s eyes widen before they close when Sonny does something he really likes in bed. He knows Rafael is never not bossy except when he thinks he’s close to coming, and then he gets quiet, then he shakes a little and he inhales, sharp, at the back of his throat, and sometimes he flails out to grip at Sonny, hard, like he needs to reassure himself that Sonny is here, with him, feeling this. He does that now, his fingers pressing at Sonny’s biceps so hard Sonny hopes they bruise. 

“I got you,” Sonny says softly against Rafael’s mouth before another biting kiss, this one quick, sharp. “I got you, Raf, come on.”

Rafael comes then and Sonny knows now that Rafael goes slack when he comes. His mouth just drops open, and Sonny loves to kiss him when he’s like this, soft and pliant, still buzzing from his orgasm. Sonny gets his fill of kissing Rafael and feels the moment Rafael comes back into himself and softens his hold on Sonny’s arms. 

“We should get out,” Rafael says, though he makes no move to shut off the water. 

“Couple more minutes,” Sonny says, planting short kisses along Rafael’s forehead. “Then I’ll make you coffee while you pick out what you wanna wear today.”

Rafael smiles like Sonny’s offering him the world on a plate and nods before tipping forward to rest his forehead against Sonny’s chest. Sonny curls his arms around Rafael’s shoulders and holds him as tight and as close as he thinks Rafael will let him get away with. And his sore muscles will allow. 

*

French press isn’t Sonny’s favorite way to brew coffee, but it’ll do until Sonny convinces Rafael he needs a stovetop espresso pot. They’ve already bickered about it good-naturedly a few times, it’s practically a morning routine. 

Sonny makes coffee and flips through the newest copy of the New Yorker open on the kitchen bar. He lets himself settle into the warm feeling of being peaceful and at home in Rafael’s home. Sonny even has clothes here now, so he doesn’t have to put his dirty workout clothes back on.  
He’s soon rewarded with Rafael, appearing in the kitchen all coiffed and dapper, wearing a dark brown herringbone suit with a blue checkered oxford underneath and finished with a maroon tie and pale yellow pocket square. 

“I don’t know how you do it,” Sonny says, taking in every detail of Rafael’s outfit. 

Rafael pours himself a cup of coffee and takes a large sip before he answers. “It takes a certain eye. And years of work training said eye.”

“And a personal shopper,” Sonny guesses. 

“That too,” Rafael concedes without missing a beat. He gently pushes Sonny over so he can get into one of the kitchen cabinets, likely the one with the horrible chalky breakfast bars Rafael resorts to eating when he doesn’t have time for real food. Sonny can’t hide the wince at his sore muscles and the hope that Rafael missed it goes flying out the window pretty fast when Rafael glares at him, breakfast bar in hand. “Did Detective Rollins damage you permanently? Am I going to have to file a complaint?”

Sonny huffs out a laugh. “Nah, just a little sore. And tired. You know.”

Rafael hums like he’s not totally buying it. “It occurs to me that with the case and everything I haven’t really asked how you’re doing.”

Sonny taps his finger nail against his coffee cup and presses his lips together. “I’m fine. What do I have to worry about, huh?”

Rafael just raises an eyebrow at him, clearly not impressed with the answer. “Your business. That you run basically by yourself. Your family. Just to name a few.”

“Bakery’s fine, family’s fine,” Sonny says quickly. 

Rafael actually puts his coffee down to cross his arms over his chest and Sonny thinks he’s probably in trouble now. “You look exhausted. Not just early morning workout exhausted.” Rafael reaches out and thumbs at the dark circles under Sonny’s eyes. 

“Just a rough couple days,” Sonny says. He reaches up to take Rafael’s hand in his, squeezing reassuringly. “I’m good. I promise.” When Rafael just looks at him Sonny chuckles. “Look, it’s fine, I show up, I make some pastry, I fix some shit for my sisters, I go home, it’s nothing.”

Rafael’s frown deepens. “Do you think that, or do you worry I think that?”

Sonny rubs at his tired eyes. He’s officially lost the thread here. “Think what?”

“That what you do is nothing.”

“Aw, come on.”

“That’s what you said.”

“I didn’t mean it like that, look, I’m just.” Sonny sighs and shakes his head. “I’m just tired, okay?”

“Okay.” Rafael looks like he might press the issue again but Sonny just gives him his best begging eyes and knows he’s earned a reprieve when Rafael just rolls his own eyes in response. “Make sure you get some sleep tonight.”

Managing that will depend on a lot of things going right today and his anxiety calming the hell down, but rather than admit as much to Rafael, Sonny just smiles, makes an x over his chest and says, “cross my heart.”

*

Sonny glares at the air conditioning unit in the window of his sister’s living room, which really should have been removed much earlier, then turns his glare to his sister. 

“You couldn’t have paid some neighbor kid to do this?” 

Teresa puts her hand on her hips and looks at him like he’s stupid. “It’s real heavy, Sonny.”

Sonny’s hand comes up to his temple and then flies out, the universal sign for ‘my brain has just exploded out of my skull.’ “They’re _teenagers_ Teresa, if they tweak their back it puts itself back into place in, like, half a day.”

Teresa laughs at him. “Are you saying you’re getting old?”

“Maybe.”

“Watch it, I got a couple years on you.”

Sonny grumps a bit and mumbles, “your daughter’s varsity field hockey squad coulda taken care of this.”

“You gonna complain all night or you just gonna remove it?” Teresa’s not looking very impressed with him and Sonny knows no good will come of more complaining. If anything, it might make Teresa withhold the ziti she promised him in exchange for this bit of hard labor.

Sonny sighs and gets to work clearing the space around the air conditioner, locating a towel he could use to wrap up the particularly pointy metal bits, making sure everything is unplugged. Stuff Teresa really could have done for him before he got here, but, you know. 

Sonny holds onto some foolish hope Teresa will putter around the kitchen or something and leave him alone to work, but that isn’t looking real likely. She leaves for a moment but then she’s back asking, “how’s Ma?”

“You have her number, you know, you could ask her yourself,” Sonny grunts, inching the very old and very heavy air conditioner towards him and out of the window. “I mean, you live ten frigging blocks from her house, Teresa, you could _walk_ over and ask.”

“Yeah but then I wouldn’t also get to find out how you’re doing dealing with however she’s doing,” Teresa says. 

Sonny can feel a headache coming on and yanks the air conditioner a little harder than he means to. It doesn’t travel too far but he still has to stumble a bit to catch the thing so it doesn’t just pitch forward onto the hardwood floor of Teresa’s living room. He takes care to lift with his knees and slowly lowers the beast to the towel he’d set out. Only once its down does he straighten up and glare at his sister. 

“She’s fine. I’m fine.”

“So…” Teresa tilts her head at him. “Not fine.”

“Why do you even ask me if you’re not gonna believe me, huh?” Sonny runs a hand through his hair in frustration. 

“Why can’t you just be honest with me?” Teresa shoots back. 

“You really want me to be?” Sonny plants his hands on his hips and makes a disbelieving noise in the back of his throat. “Cause I don’t think you do, Treece. Pop was dead and I picked up everything with the bakery and you were there for the first, what, month? And then, poof, nada, nothing, gone.”

“I helped with Ma,” Teresa says. 

“Yeah for a month and then you started screening her calls,” Sonny snaps. “And so then it was me and Gina and Bella. And you know Gina flaked out in five days and Bella’s got her own shit to deal with what with Tommy coming home. So really, it’s just me.” 

Teresa sighs and looks like she’s sorry, either for what she’s done or for bringing this subject up, Sonny’s not sure. “Sonny…”

“I dunno, Treece, I don’t think you actually want me to be honest with you cause then you’d have to suck it up and deal with whatever thing you got going on with ma in order to help out and you don’t want to.” He shrugs and then kicks the side of the air conditioner. “Where you want this thing.”

“Hall closet is fine, if you take it upstairs you might kill yourself,” Teresa says. She sighs again and crosses her arms over her chest. “Look. You’re right. Ma and I...don’t get along, we never did.”

“I know, I was there,” Sonny says sarcastically. He’s fairly sure most of the neighborhood knew Teresa and their mom didn’t get along, their fights had been loud and plentiful. By the time Teresa left for college it had mostly died down, but then she’d come back sophomore year unmarried and pregnant and shit kicked up again. Sonny doesn’t really blame Teresa for holding a bit of a grudge. And he knows things will never be all happy-go-lucky between them, but sometimes Sonny wishes both of them could bury the nitpicking and the needling and all the talk about the sins of premarital sex for just a little bit. For his sake and everyone else's, including his sixteen year old niece, Angela. 

“I worry about you,” Teresa admits. She does look genuinely concerned, and Sonny knows it’s likely some latent oldest sibling thing making itself known. Teresa was never really the best big sister, but every so often she’d remember that as the eldest she was supposed to do things like help Sonny learn how to ride a bike or walk Gina to girl scouts. 

“Don’t worry about me, I’m okay,” Sonny says. 

“You’ll tell me if you’re not,” Teresa says, like it’s an order and not a request. “The second Ma gets to be too much. Anything.”

“Promise,” Sonny says. 

Teresa looks up towards the ceiling and heaves a full body sigh their nonna would be proud of, dramatic body language the birthright of Italian women everywhere. “You’re a terrible liar, Sonny.”

*

There’s something calming about prepping loaf after loaf for the oven, the smell of bread and sugar slowly filling the bakery as the sun begins to peak over the horizon. Sonny’s maybe a little bit in love with that. When he’s alone like this, getting lost in the familiar steps required to open the bakery, he feels strangely disconnected from his body. It’s a sort of blissful blankness that he only gets either when he’s baking or he’s at church, saying the rosary, the clutter of his thoughts overcome by either scone recipe steps or hail marys. 

He has about an hour and a half before open. He usually stays in the back kitchen until the very last minute. He leaves the door locked and the lights off in the front of the store to dissuade randos from knocking and drunkenly demanding a “freaking cookie already.” 

He has his apron on but not tied, the sleeves of his long sleeved t-shirt rolled up, and his hair pushed back away from his face with the help of an old bandanna. He’s taking a rolling pin to a cold chunk of butter, trying to flatten it best he can so he can wrap dough around it before letting it rest. He’s just about got the butter to a proper rectangle when his phone pings with a message. 

_You at the bakery?_

Sonny just stares, bewildered, at his phone for second, wondering what natural disaster had to have occured to get Rafael up at this hour. He has to run his fingers down the front of his apron twice to clear the butter and flour off before he can type up a response.  
__

_Always. Yeah._

_Let me in?_

Sonny frowns down at the phone. _Into the bakery?_

There’s a pause and those dang ellipses that indicate Rafael is typing before finally, _no, into Narnia._

Sonny rolls his eyes and he’s already walking towards the front of the store when he gets the next message. 

_Yes, the bakery._

Rafael is leaning on the window by the door. Sonny thinks it unlikely he’s coming from the office dressed in a polo shirt a windbreaker and regular slacks. His hair is kind of all over the place and he looks distracted, not glancing up from his phone when Sonny opens the door. 

“Hey,” Sonny says. “Kinda early for you, huh?”

“Early would imply I’ve gone to bed,” Rafael says and he looks tired when he finally faces Sonny and Sonny can see all of him, the slow pull of his mouth down, the slightly glazed over look in his eye. 

It’s cold and since Rafael is making no move to walk himself inside, Sonny quickly gets him moving with some careful tugs on his jacket, pulling him in. “Was it work?”

“No,” Rafael says. They stand inside the darkened storefront for a long moment and Sonny waits for Rafael to explain. After a couple minutes Rafael runs his fingers through his hair, messing it up even further, and sighs, his body slumping. “I want to tell you. I also can’t right now.”

Sonny’s confused and tries to hide it. “Okay,” he says. “I don’t know--”

“I needed to see you,” Rafael says, pained, like it hurts him to admit as much. 

“Okay,” Sonny says again, firmer this time, and he reaches down to take Rafael’s hand. “I need to get the bakery ready.”

“Right,” Rafael says, and he looks like he’s about to launch into a diatribe about why he should leave, which is the opposite of what Sonny wants or what he thinks Rafael likely needs right now. 

“You can sit in the back with me, if you want,” he suggests. “It can get a little stuffy and I have to work, but. I can find you a chair.”

Rafael finally looks him in the eye and he looks overwhelmed, his mouth quirking up into something halfway to a smile. “Sure. Okay.”

Sonny doesn’t let go of his hand, uses his soft grip on Rafael to tug him back into the kitchen. He finds a fold out stool and sets it up by the prep table for Rafael. The butter he’d been whacking into shape when he’d gotten Rafael’s text has softened too much to be of any use for puff pastry. Sonny scrapes the butter off the table and puts it into a dish so he can stick it back in the fridge to harden. He’ll find something else to use it in, he never has a problem getting rid of butter in this place. He gets a new hard block of butter out of the fridge and puts it down in front of Rafael. 

“Here,” Sonny says, handing his long rolling pin to Rafael. “Hit that until it’s a rectangle.”

“You’re putting me to work,” Rafael observes. 

“You can sit and stew if you really want but I thought hitting something might help,” Sonny snarks back at him and Rafael’s mouth twitches up into a smile. “Don’t go too bananas, just until it’s, like, an inch or so thick, okay?”

Rafael nods and his grip tightens on the rolling pin. Sonny smiles and leaves him to it, bustling about to pull some bread out of the oven just before the timer goes off. He starts one of the industrial mixers and preps a batch of biscotti dough. Sometimes he has it in him to make a couple different flavors but today, with Rafael here and upset, Sonny thinks it’s better to just make one vanilla base and maybe a couple variations of mix-ins. 

“You do mostly bread in the morning?” Rafael asks after a couple minutes of quiet, the only sounds around them the mixer and the thwack of the rolling pin on butter. 

“Bread and anything that goes with coffee,” Sonny says. “Biscotti, some muffins, sfogliatella. That’s what sells first thing in the morning.”

Rafael hits the butter again and his rectangle is looking a little oblong, but mostly okay. “So the cookies and the connoli…”

“I don’t bother with that until after the first morning rush,” Sonny says. “There’s always one weirdo who wants to buy a connoli at 6am but they’re shit out of luck. I don’t have time or enough people buying ‘em to bother setting up the fryer before open.”

Rafael nods, then admits, “I didn’t realize the depth of logistics involved in running this place.”

Sonny laughs. “Yeah. It’s a lot.”

“I can see that,” Rafael says sincerely and Sonny has to duck his head, feeling a little too seen. “Is this done?”

Sonny walks over to inspect the job Rafael’s done on the butter. It’s not the best rectangle but it’s passable and Sonny doesn’t want Rafael working with it anymore, he’s worried it’s gonna get too warm. 

“You’re good,” he declares. He goes into the fridge and pulls out the pastry dough he’d made earlier and dumps it out of its bowl in front of Rafael. “Roll out the dough until it’s bigger than the butter, big enough that you can wrap the butter up inside it.”

Rafael squints down at the dough but doesn’t back away from the challenge. “Okay,” he says, and grabs the rolling pin again. 

Sonny will need to separate the batches of biscotti soon but he has a second or so. “Want me to make you a coffee?”

Rafael’s knuckles whiten on his grip on the rolling pin and his shoulders slump. “Please,” he says, as close to begging as Sonny’s ever heard him. 

“Alright,” Sonny says and he kisses Rafael’s cheek before bustling out the back room to the espresso machine. 

Sonny pulls just a double shot of espresso for himself and makes Rafael his cuban. It takes a little extra time, the cuban, but Sonny thinks Rafael needs the sugar, too. He carries the coffees back in and puts Rafael’s down on the prep table in front of him and a slightly messy but finished butter-wrapped-in-dough. 

“Hey, good job,” Sonny says and Rafael rolls his eyes a bit. “Puff pastry is no joke, it’s tough to make.”

“Still, if I couldn’t handle wrapping a rectangle of butter in dough,” Rafael trails off in favor of drinking his coffee. 

Sonny’s not sure why Rafael’s in a self flagellation mood but he’s also not going to feed it. “Now we gotta let it rest in the fridge for a bit, then roll it out, wrap it up again, then rest again, then roll it and wrap it one more time.” 

“That’s. Involved.”

Sonny widens his eyes at him like, no shit, and it earns him a laugh. “Told you. Puff pastry. No joke.”

“I think I understand why people buy it frozen from the grocery store now,” Rafael says. 

“Yeah, I do too,” Sonny admits. “But I can’t do that in my bakery.”

“The angry spirit in your espresso machine would decide to move to your fridge in retaliation.”

Sonny groans. “Don’t say that in front of Bella, please, she’ll hang a rosary from every utensil I got.”

Sonny puts Rafael back to work then. He divides his biscotti base into three and gives Rafael a wide variety of mix ins and lets him decide what the three offerings will be. It’s a game Sonny’s played before with his niece and if Rafael suspects he’s being coddled he doesn’t give it away. Sonny finishes a batch of blueberry and chocolate chip muffins by the time Rafael’s done and then he can put the biscotti in for their first bake and it’s time to roll out the puff pastry. 

It doesn’t occur to Sonny until the third and final time he has Rafael rolling out the puff pastry that now might be a good time to use the guava paste he’d bought on a whim a month ago. He’d bought it for Rafael anyway, and here was Rafael in front of him, helping roll out puff pastry of all things, so...why not. 

“Alright, that looks good,” Sonny says, eyeing the layers of butter and dough expertly before nodding to himself. “I’m gonna take half of this for the sfogliatella and you’re gonna take half of it for something else.”

Rafael snorts. “Are you going to tell me what this something else is?”

“Yeah, you’ll figure it out, hang on.” Sonny takes his half of the puff pastry and shoves it in the fridge. He needs to kind of backseat drive Rafael’s pastry and doesn’t trust the butter not to melt out of his by the time he gets to it if he leaves it out. He grabs the guava paste and sets it down in front of Rafael. “There ya go.”

Rafael looks from the box to Sonny and back again before slowly reaching out and picking it up. “You bought this?”

“Yeah.”

“For me.”

“No, for my other Cuban boyfriend,” Sonny says and when Rafael doesn’t respond Sonny moves around the prep table to stand next to him. “Raf. What.”

“Sorry,” Rafael spits out, his hands shaking a little as he drops the box of guava paste and laughs darkly. “My grandmother is dead and you bought me the ingredients for my favorite pastelitos.” He chokes out a bitter laugh. “I don’t know if the universe is cruel or kind right now.”

“Shit,” Sonny blurts out and he wants to reach out to Rafael but he’s not totally sure if that’s what Rafael wants right now. He fights to keep his hands at his side. “Raf, I’m sorry.”

“It happened last night,” he explains. “I was with my mother for hours calling people, packing things, and then when I left I got on the subway to go downtown and I just. Didn’t get off at my stop.” Rafael huffs out a confused breath and rubs at his tired face with his hand. “I don’t think I realized where I was going until I was outside your door.”

At a loss for what else to say Sonny just murmurs Rafael’s name again. That seems to be enough because then Rafael’s hand is flailing out for Sonny and Sonny’s there to grab him. Rafael meets him halfway, shoves his face into Sonny’s apron, his arms winding around Sonny’s waist to grip and hold him tight. Sonny bends down, his long arms rubbing at Rafael’s back, arched with grief. 

“I’m sorry,” Sonny says again even though it’s not enough. He knows that from experience. He heard it over and over in the days after his pop died. It means something, condolences, but even stacked together, one on top of another, it isn’t enough to fill the hole left behind by the person who died. 

“I’m sorry,” Rafael grumbles, his words mostly lost, muffled from him speaking them into Sonny’s apron. He leans back and blinks furtively, like it’ll stop him from crying or Sonny from noticing that he’s crying. “I didn’t want to throw this on you.”

Sonny makes a noise somewhere between surprised and annoyed. “We’re in a relationship. When you’re dealing with stuff, you’re supposed to come to me with it.”

“You already deal with so much.”

“I can handle it,” Sonny says reflexively. He’s been doing okay for a while now, he doesn’t think Rafael will be what breaks him. 

“Even if that were true,” Rafael says with a weight to his words that says he doubts, very much, that it is. “Maybe I also didn’t want to be one more thing you had to handle.”

Sonny swallows hard at that. He goes searching for a reply and comes up empty. Judging from the sad twinge in Rafael’s smile, he knows it too. Sonny fumbles his hands up to Rafael’s shoulder and tugs him in close, holding him tight, like he’s making a point to them both.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 3 vafanap is Italian American slang that comes from "và fà a Napoli." Literally it translates to "go to Naples." Figuratively it translates to "go to hell." No I don't know why Naples is hell, in this situation. I'm sure it's lovely.


	3. Rafael

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who has commented on this. 
> 
> Extra thanks to Zoe who texted me "omg shut up and keep writing" when I needed it.
> 
> Warnings for this chapter for funeral talk and canon character death.

Rafael arrives at the funeral home expecting to stay there until the next day’s funeral service. What he hadn’t quite counted on was his extended family arriving en masse with similar plans. Rafael makes note of the latest cousin to come through the door and knows that he’ll likely need to leave soon or risk making tomorrow’s funeral a double billing. 

“Don’t talk to Hector, he always infuriates you,” his mother says, gently berating him. Rafael is reminded again how different they are when it comes to confrontation. His mother long ago perfected the ability to avoid, ignore, or compartmentalize. Rafael has never been very good at turning the other cheek, literally or metaphorically. 

“I don’t plan on seeking him out, Mami, but the building is only so big.” And his cousins have a unique talent for trapping him with obnoxious accusations or observations phrased as questions. When they were children it was all about his fey bookish nature. Now it’s about his career (and his fey bookish nature). It may have bothered him once, but Rafael can’t really remember. He’d done a very efficient job of erasing a number of his adolescent vulnerabilities, much to his former therapist’s dismay. It’s very likely that he’d once wanted to be accepted by his crowds of cousins. It hadn't worked out. He had coped by building a life raft from his doting aunts, his mother, his abuela. Then he found Eddie and Alex and the rest was history that only tastes a little bitter, now.

He distracts himself from the packed room of family and neighbors by poking at his phone. He’s been shamelessly retreating to the contents of his inbox all night as a blatant coping mechanism--it works and it’s more socially acceptable than flicking his cousin Hector in the forehead. He spends a few minutes responding to inquiries and condolences from work. A message from Sonny pops up, gently inquiring after him and using every shade of emoji heart on offer. 

Rafael smiles in spite of himself and replies with, _my great-aunt barely said hello before she then said “still not married” like I shot someone._

_You shot traditional heteronormative family values dead in front of her._

_I should not find it attractive when you say “heteronormative.”_

_And yet here we are._

His mother grasps his elbow to get his attention. “Your Tia Louisa is taking orders for dinner.”

Rafael can’t stop the long sigh that escapes from his mouth. “I was hoping I could eat dinner at home.”

“With whoever you’re texting?” His mother arches an over plucked eyebrow at him. So much for her not noticing just how often he’d been on his phone.

“I know it’s not our preferred conversation topic--”

“You’re the one who said we shouldn’t discuss your love life anymore, I was fine with it.”

Rafael ignores his mother’s revisionist history for now. There will be plenty of time later to remind her of the big bisexual argument of Thanksgiving, 1999. “I’m seeing someone and I’m sure he’ll be at the funeral.”

Lucia purses her lips in a way that doesn’t usually portend well for Rafael. “You’re sure.” 

Rafael can’t exactly fault her for doubting. She was married to his father after all, and all the disappointment and absenteeism that came along with it. 

“He wants to be there. I want him to be there,” Rafael says, working hard to feign nonchalance. It’s important to him that his mother like Sonny, or at the very least, tolerate his existence. If he’d had any choice in the matter he’d have laid some groundwork for their first meeting months in advance to help ensure it went well, but, best laid plans, etc, etc. “The only thing keeping him from descending on this funeral home with a metric ton of baked goods is I convinced him it wasn’t a good idea.”

Lucia makes a considering noise. “He wants to feed people in mourning. I can appreciate that sentiment.”

It’s tentative approval wrapped in permission that Rafael knows he technically doesn’t _need_ , but does make things easier. “Thank you, Mami.”

“Oh your cousin Lito’s here,” his mother says, squinting at the entrance to the funeral home. “He mentioned something about asking your advice on his unpaid parking tickets.”

Great. The only thing worse than asshole cousins are asshole cousins looking for free legal advice. “Mami, I am begging you--”

“Go home, Rafi,” she says, patting him on the shoulder and releasing him from his maternal obligations. 

“I can come by tomorrow before the service,” he says. “And if you need me--”

She kisses his cheek and flashes him a small, sad smile. “I’ll call you. I promise.”

*

Rafael fumbles for the keys to his apartment feeling a whole new kind of exhausted. He thought he’d discovered all the different ways one could be tired while he was in law school, but this, this is different. He feels like he’s spent all day letting strangers punch him in the gut. Maybe that’s just what mourning feels like. 

He finally gets the door to his apartment open and shuffles himself inside. The light is on in his living room and it takes him a moment to realize it’s because his living room is occupied. 

“Hey,” Sonny says, getting up from where he’d been lounging on Rafael’s couch. “Hey, how was it? Okay?”

“Yes,” Rafael replies, his brain still playing catch up. “What are you...I didn’t expect you to be here.”

“Is it okay that I am?”

Rafael shakes his head in a futile attempt to clear it. “Of course. I just thought you’d be busy.”

“I called in some favors,” Sonny says dismissively, like it’s no big deal for him to leave the business he owns and basically runs by himself. “I got Bella and Tommy taking care of the bakery. They even got Gina to stop in and dirty up her hands a little. And my aunt Concetta is taking Ma to church and down the shore to visit my grandparents.”

“I thought your aunt Concetta was haunting the espresso machine,” Rafael says.

“Different Concetta,” he says. “Italians love to recycle names.”

“Got it.” Rafael blinks at Sonny and steps in close, giving into the urge to tuck his head underneath Sonny’s chin. “I’m glad you’re here,” he admits, because he is, and because Sonny deserves to know that after the logistical effort Rafael knows he put forth to make sure he could be here. 

“Yeah, of course,” Sonny murmurs. His hands drift up and down Rafael’s spine and it’s a comfort Rafael didn’t even know he needed until right now and he sags thankfully in Sonny’s arms. They stay like that for a couple minutes. Rafael doesn’t have it in him to deny himself this right now and Sonny, so open and bright, is so willing to give. 

Rafael swallows around the lump in his throat. “I need a bath.”

“Sounds like a good idea,” Sonny says. “Why don’t you do that while I heat up something for dinner, huh?”

Rafael moves back so he can look up at Sonny. “You’re going to make dinner?”

Sonny laughs. “Yeah. I think I can handle it tonight.” He shrugs like it’s no big deal, like he wasn’t up early at the bakery and cooking all day, the two things that usually keep him from cooking dinner. He kisses Rafael and gently pushes him towards the bathroom. “Go. Enjoy your bath, okay?”

Rafael nods a few times, his brain still fuzzy, and heads into the bathroom. He leaves the door open so he can hear, faintly over the sound of the tub filling, the clang of pots and pans as Sonny preps dinner. 

He doesn’t rush. He lets himself soak for long enough that his skin begins to prune and only then does he crawl out of the water. He puts on a well-worn pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt and joins Sonny in the kitchen where they split a flatbread piled high with prosciutto and arugula. 

“I feel a little more like a person now,” Rafael says after helping himself to two slices of the flatbread. He reaches over to where Sonny sits beside him and squeezes his thigh. “Thank you.”

“No problem,” he says and pushes the third and final piece towards Rafael before he gets up and starts cleaning the kitchen. 

“You can leave it,” Rafael says. 

“We won’t have any time tomorrow to deal with it, better I do it now,” Sonny insists. “Won’t take me too long. That’s the great part about anything like pizza, you know, you bake it on aluminum foil and then you chuck it and you’re good.”

“Amen,” Rafael says with the sincerity of a man who got through law school reheating bagel bites in a toaster oven. 

“I had Bella set aside some stuff at the bakery tonight for us. We can pick it all up tomorrow and bring to the funeral home.”

He should’ve known Sonny would find some way to feed his mourning family before all this was over and Rafael doesn’t think it’s worth fighting him on it, not anymore. He warned his mother that Sonny will be attending the funeral. Showing up with him a little early at the funeral home should be fine. 

“Your ma’s really gonna stay there all night?”

“Cuban tradition. Family has to stay with the body until burial.” 

“Where’s she gonna _sleep_?” 

Rafael snorts out a surprised laugh. He can practically see the nightmare train of scenarios running through Sonny’s mind. “They have lounge chairs. No one’s going to make my mother camp out in a sleeping bag next to the coffin.”

“That’s a relief,” Sonny grumbles and he shakes his head like he’s shaking off some creepy mental images too.

Rafael picks at the rest of his dinner and watches Sonny wash dishes. A bit of his hair flops in front of his eyes and Sonny keeps having to tilt his head back to get it out of the way again. He’s humming under his breath and Rafael can’t recognize the song, he never can, but he doesn’t really care either. The song isn’t the point so much as Sonny being here humming it is. Suddenly tired of being the spectator, Rafael pushes himself up out of his seat and walks around to join Sonny at the sink.

“Hey, what--”

Rafael cuts him off with a kiss, hands pulling Sonny in close even as Sonny holds his own soapy dripping hands up and away from Rafael. “Take me to bed,” Rafael says when he releases Sonny. 

Sonny looks at him, then back at the dishes. Enough of them are washed that Rafael will seriously kick Sonny in the ankle if he even thinks about finishing cleaning right now. “Yeah okay,” Sonny says and he dries his soapy hands on his pants before he grabs at Rafael. 

Rafael doesn’t want to waste any time and starts pulling his clothes off as they walk to the bedroom. Sonny blinks at him but then follows suit and it’s probably a small miracle they manage to navigate to the bedroom without braining themselves on a bookshelf or something but Sonny seems hyper aware of their surroundings and Rafael lets him twist and tug him towards the bed. 

Sonny sits on the bed and Rafael steps between his legs, his hands running through Sonny’s hair to clasp at the back of Sonny’s head as he presses an open mouthed kiss to the center of Rafael’s chest. 

“Can I fuck you?” Rafael tugs at Sonny’s hair and Sonny drops his chin to Rafael’s chest and looks up at him with wide eyes, pupils blown wide. “Let me fuck you.”

“Yeah,” Sonny huffs out on a long low breath. “I wanna ride you, though. I wanna do all the work.”

“Of course you do,” Rafael quips. 

“What’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

Rafael sighs and pushes Sonny down on the bed before climbing in next to him. Sonny’s on top of him as soon as Rafael’s back hits the mattress. He straddles Rafael’s waist, hands planted on the bed by Rafael’s shoulders. Sonny quirks an eyebrow at him and Rafael sighs again. 

“It doesn’t mean anything.”

“Sure, that’s why you said it, cause you’re a guy who frequently says what he doesn’t mean,” Sonny snarks. 

Rafael grips at Sonny’s hips and tugs him into a more comfortable position, his thumbs idly brushing at the soft skin of Sonny’s stomach. “You like to take care of me.”

“Guilty,” Sonny says. He brings his hand to Rafael’s face and shrugs. “That’s a bad thing?”

Not really, but he sees the way Sonny hyperextends himself for his family and he thinks, _maybe _. “I’m not good at letting people do that.”__

__Sonny hums. “You do okay.”_ _

__“I’m trying to be better at it,” Rafael says, not ready to give himself too much credit._ _

__“I know we haven’t been doing this for very long,” Sonny says, chewing at his own bottom lip in a nervous gesture. “But I care about you.”_ _

__Rafael doesn’t think he has a response for that. Not yet. He pulls Sonny down for a kiss he hopes will say enough and it must suffice because Sonny just groans into Rafael’s mouth and holds him tight._ _

__He’d half thought Sonny was joking about doing all the work but that’s quickly proven wrong when Sonny captures both of Rafael’s wrists in his one large hand and pins him to the bed._ _

__“Seriously?” Rafael gives Sonny his best unimpressed look._ _

__Sonny has the tube of lube in his mouth and just gives him _yes, seriously_ face before determinedly opening himself up for Rafael with only one hand. Sonny’s smile turns devilish about halfway through and he looks down at Rafael, eyes half-lidded, as he curls his fingers in himself. Rafael doesn’t know if he’s more turned on or annoyed and it’s kind of perfect. Sonny somehow knows when to push back at Rafael when he’s being a dick and when to be a dick himself and Rafael might love him for that alone, not that’d he’d say as much out loud, not yet, not now. _ _

__Rafael holds back his sniping and just flexes his hands in Sonny’s firm grip as Sonny finally sinks down onto Rafael’s cock. Sonny’s all long lines and fluid motion, his lean body arching over Rafael in one beautiful curve, his hips quickly finding an even rhythm. For all his flailing hands and bow legged struts Sonny can be devastatingly in control of himself and his long limbs and Rafael can’t do anything but lay underneath him and watch the breath stutter out of Sonny every time he tilts his hips forward and pushes Rafael deep inside of him._ _

__He really did plan on letting Sonny keep control here, he’d swear to it under oath and everything, but then Rafael just has to lift his hips to thrust up into Sonny. He’s definitely hitting all the right places if the way Sonny’s mouth drops open is any indication. Sonny starts groaning every time he drops down onto Rafael’s cock and his hand releases Rafael’s wrists to clutch at Rafael’s shoulder. He bites his lip and stutters out Rafael’s name and that’s sort of game over, Rafael is done being a passive audience._ _

__He sits up and pulls Sonny into his arms and further onto his dick. Sonny lets out a little yelp of surprise but quickly wraps his long arms around Rafael’s shoulders and leans close to pant into Rafael’s mouth._ _

__“Control freak,” Sonny huffs out, grinning like a man who had a feeling this moment was coming._ _

__“You like it,” Rafael says, punctuating his point with a small thrust up into Sonny, his nails biting into Sonny’s hips._ _

__“Fuck,” Sonny grunts and his head tips back. Rafael drops sucking kisses to his neck, his shoulder. Sonny’s hands slide up Rafael’s back to grasp at the back of his neck._ _

__Neither of them can get great leverage like this, they have to move together in small ways that nevertheless have Rafael’s hands shaking as he clutches at Sonny’s back. He should lean back, give Sonny his hand to thrust into or something, but Sonny won’t stop pulling Rafael in closer, closer, even though there is no closer anymore. They’re shoved inside and up against each other and somehow it isn’t enough and Rafael can feel where their bodies are getting slicker against each other and his brain is swimming in the haze of Sonny’s skin and Sonny’s heat and Sonny’s mouth._ _

__Sonny’s brows start to furrow the way they always do when he’s about to come. He wiggles one of his hands between them to stroke himself and uses his other hand to pull Rafael into a biting kiss. “Raf,” Sonny practically whimpers into Rafael’s cheek, nosing at him aimlessly before kissing him again._ _

__Rafael murmurs nonsense into Sonny’s mouth and tightens his grip on him. He feels the second Sonny starts to come and Rafael just buries his face in Sonny’s neck, closes his eyes tight, and falls into his own orgasm._ _

__He doesn’t see any reason to move right away, not with Sonny still clinging to him, panting against Rafael’s hair, fingers stroking the back of Rafael’s neck. Rafael clings back, lolling his head down Sonny’s shoulder, fingers sliding up and down the small of Sonny’s back._ _

__Sonny chuckles, his voice deeper than usual the way it always is after sex. “I knew you’d never be able to let me do _all_ the work.”_ _

__Rafael makes a half-hearted noise of protest against Sonny’s chest. “It’s better when we work together.”_ _

__There’s a beat of complete silence and then Sonny starts shaking laughing and Rafael regrets everything._ _

__“I was _trying_ to be sincere--”_ _

__“That was the cheesiest shit--”_ _

__Rafael pushes as far away from Sonny as he can get while still being inside of him. “No, that’s fine. Lesson learned. I won’t try again.”_ _

__“Stop it, drama queen,” Sonny says in a low drawl, the childish insult somehow funnier in his elongated accent. Sonny cups Rafael’s face in his hands and brings him in for a soft kiss. “It is better.”_ _

__“I’m often right,” Rafael says without missing a beat._ _

__Sonny rolls his eyes affectionately. “Insufferable.”_ _

__Rafael pets at Sonny’s hair, stares at the wrinkles by his eyes as he smiles, and can’t find it in him to make another wisecrack. “Yes,” he says simply and pulls Sonny in close again._ _

__*_ _

__Sonny wakes him the next morning with a kiss and a cup of coffee._ _

__“My body woke up early cause, I dunno, it’s trained or something,” Sonny says, his jerky hand gestures and wide eyes at odds with the early morning hour. “I’m gonna make us a frittata while you jump in the shower.”_ _

__Sonny seems to have decided his job today is to keep Rafael fed and caffeinated and Rafael isn’t awake enough to consider arguing about that. He finishes his first cup of coffee in bed and waits for the part of himself that responds to kindness with suspicion to rear its ugly head. When it doesn’t come, he places his empty mug on the dresser and goes to shower. He stands under the hot water and feels nothing but slowly fading exhaustion. He wonders if one could call this progress._ _

__He takes his time figuring out what to wear. He considers selecting a suit his abuela liked over the usual funeral fare, but in the end opts for sedate and boring. The one flourish he allows himself is his pale lavender tie with small silver polka dots. His abuela had given it to him when he graduated law school._ _

__Once dressed, Rafael ventures out of the bedroom to find Sonny and his promised breakfast. He finds both in the kitchen--the frittata and coffee on the bar, Sonny by the stove with his phone to his ear._ _

__“Yeah, well, if you wanna stay longer you’re just gonna have to work that out with Connie,” Sonny says. Rafael wanders over and pours himself a second cup of coffee while giving Sonny an inquisitive look. “My mom,” Sonny mutters, pulling the phone away from his mouth to do so._ _

__“Hoo boy,” Rafael says before he can remind himself maybe, you know, don’t. Sonny glares at him a little which seems fair._ _

__“Well I’m sorry I made this difficult but I told you I couldn’t drive you there today,” Sonny says, nervously shifting his weight from side to side as he listens to his mother continue what Rafael assumes is a diatribe. “I did, Ma, I told you. It’s not my fault you didn’t hear me.”_ _

__Sonny pulls the phone away from his face after that and gives up listening for a moment before pulling the phone back and saying, “I gotta go Ma.” He pauses, his eyes darting to Rafael. “I’m with a friend. Tell Connie I said hi. Bye.”_ _

__Rafael stabs a fork into the frittata. “Friend.”_ _

__Sonny responds by pulling his hands through his hair in frustration. The result is a complete mess that Rafael nevertheless finds endearing. “I’m gonna tell her.”_ _

__Rafael raises an eyebrow at him. “Yeah?”_ _

__“When she gets back from the shore, I’ll go home and tell her,” Sonny says firmly, arms folded in front of his chest._ _

__“You don’t have to,” Rafael says slowly. “But I want you to.”_ _

__Sonny sighs and reaches out to take Rafael’s hand. “Yeah, I know. I want to too, this is. Getting ridiculous. I’m not a freaking kid.”_ _

__“I’m sorry,” Rafael says because he’s honestly sure what else to say._ _

__Sonny lets out a kind of exhausted laugh and shrugs. “I’m not. I think maybe. After Pops died. I like Ma lean on me. Too much.”_ _

__Rafael lets out a snort of _no shit_ before he realizes that maybe his default setting of ‘asshole’ isn’t the right move here. Sonny folds his lanky arms over his chest and frowns at him and Rafael sighs and sets about course-correcting. _ _

__“You were trying to do the right thing,” he says finally. “I know that.”_ _

__“Yeah I was,” Sonny says, a little pointedly and Rafael just holds his hands up in surrender. “But it’s…too much now.”_ _

__Rafael sighs and rubs at his temples. He really doesn’t feel like kicking off the morning of his grandmother’s funeral fighting with Sonny. “Can I just agree with you? And then can we just leave it at that for now?”_ _

__Sonny rolls his eyes, but the smile he offers Rafael is shot through with affection as much as it is annoyance. He drags the plate with breakfast on it closer to them, Rafael’s fork still sticking straight up from the eggs._ _

__“Eat your damn frittata.”_ _

__*_ _

__They arrive at the funeral home and the hustle and bustle happening around it makes Rafael want to turn around and leave again. Since that’s not a real option, Rafael gets out of the cab and grabs pastry boxes from Sonny before dutifully heading inside. He finds his mother holding court with a few of her female cousins in a far corner of the main room. They’re a fairly intimidating bunch, these women who have propped Rafael up and prodded him along. He feels both thankful for them and wary of them. No way can they all be together when Sonny gets inside._ _

__“Food,” Rafael announces and unloads the pastry boxes on his mother’s cousins Aleja and Veronica. They stand there staring at him, white boxes weighing down their arms, and he propels them into motion with a _go, go_ flick of his hand. _ _

__His mother watches in amusement as Aleja and Veronica leave to pass out food. “You feeding an army, Rafi?”_ _

__“It wasn’t an argument I felt like having,” Rafael explains before greeting his mother with a hug. He belatedly realizes that Sonny’s not beside him or behind him and scans the room for his thankfully tall and easy-to-spot partner. Sonny’s not far away, handing out pastries to Rafael’s family who look to be treating him kindly._ _

__“That your friend?”_ _

__“Be nice, he brought you breakfast.”_ _

__“Everyone probably thinks he’s the delivery boy,” his mother says._ _

__“I doubt that, he’s wearing a suit,” Rafael interjects. “One of his nicer ones.”_ _

__“You know what all his suits look like.”_ _

__“Mami.”_ _

__She seems to finally take pity on him and goes quiet, patting his arm as if thanking him for being a good sport._ _

__Sonny clears Rafael's relatives and makes his way over to them. “Hiya, sorry, got a little bogged down there,” he says sheepishly_ _

__“Everyone’s hungry,” Lucia says. The look on her face is one Rafael recognizes as meaning family gossip is forthcoming. “Louisa completely botched dinner last night. No one’s going to forget that for forty years. At least.”_ _

__“I’m so sorry I missed that,” Rafael says while meaning, no, he’s not sorry at all. He gestures from his mother to Sonny and back again. “Mami, this is Sonny. Sonny, my mother, Lucia Barba.”_ _

__Sonny is all unrestrained exuberance and warmth. Lucia is caution and a calculating, but kind, eye. All Rafael can see is how very different they are. He’s not sure sure how this woman raised him and he came to care for this man, but here he is. Here they are._ _

__“Nice to meet you, Ma’am,” Sonny says courteously, shaking his mother’s hand. “Sorry it has to be under these circumstances.”_ _

__“Hmm yes, thank you,” Lucia says. She looks Sonny up and down, taking him in. She then turns to Rafael, seemingly having made up her mind one way or the other. “He brought food and he makes you smile, he can stay.”_ _

__“Oh good, I was worried you’d press the ejector seat button halfway through the service,” Rafael drones, not wanting to let his mother see his relief._ _

__“Don’t make jokes,” she scolds him half-heartedly. “I’m going to get a muffin, we need to leave soon.” She nods to them both and then walks away and Rafael feels himself relax just a little._ _

__“That went okay,” Sonny says, making a _so-so_ gesture with his hand. _ _

__“Definitely could’ve been worse,” Rafael says._ _

__“That’s my guy. Glass half full. Ish.”_ _

__Rafael huffs out a quiet laugh and lets himself hold Sonny’s hand for a moment. He probably won’t be able to for a while, at least not during the service. His mother isn’t a fan of public displays of affection when it comes to literally anyone, and he’s willing to give her that, today. Rafael can see that everyone has started to drift towards the doors and he takes a shaky breath in._ _

__“I guess it’s time,” he says and he gets confirmation in the form of his mother meeting his gaze and waving him forward._ _

__“Raf, hey.” Sonny looks at him for a long moment and squeezes his hand. “I’m right here, okay?”_ _

__Rafael feels at once settled and knocked-sideways by that. He grounds himself again by squeezing Sonny’s hand in return. “I know.”_ _

__*_ _

__With her designer clothes and general WASPishness, Rita should probably stick out more in a dive bar, but Rafael learned a long time ago that she has a confidence that dissuades anyone from questioning her presence just about anywhere. Rafael should probably also stick out, possibly even does, but he was born here, he claims certain rights to still be able to blend into a day drinking crowd in the Bronx._ _

__He watches her make her way to his table from the bar, a drink in each hand. She stops a foot away from him, cocks her hip out and frowns. “You look terrible.”_ _

__He lifts an eyebrow at her. “You know just what to say to mourners, you know that?”_ _

__Rita shrugs, very unapologetic and very Rita. “I’ve never lied to you. Not about to start now.”_ _

__“Fair enough,” Rafael admits and holds his hand out for the scotch she’s holding that he knows isn’t for her. Rita smirks, hands the glass over, and takes the empty seat across from him while delicately holding her martini._ _

__“You skipping the burial?”_ _

__“No burial,” Rafael says. “Dirt isn’t cheap in New York and my abuela wouldn’t hear of it. The second the church came around on the issue of cremating people she changed her will.”_ _

__“A sensible woman,” Rita says approvingly._ _

__“There’s a luncheon…” He gestures vaguely beyond the bar’s walls to all of New York. “Somewhere. My family is there.”_ _

__“And you are not.” Rita taps her well-manicured nails on the side of her martini glass. “You’d rather be drinking with me?”_ _

__“I only told you where I was because you wouldn’t stop texting me.” It’s a blatant lie but Rita opts not to call him out on it, settling for a smug grin instead._ _

__“Where’s your guard dog?”_ _

__That gets a laugh of surprise out of Rafael. “Excuse me?”_ _

__“Tall, floppy hair, big puppy eyes,” Rita says. “Probably not a very effective guard dog. More of a golden retriever than anything else--”_ _

__“Rita,” Rafael says, poorly resisting the urge to continue laughing._ _

__“--or a greyhound with those long legs of his.” Rita shakes her head. “He was glued to your side the whole service.”_ _

__“His name is Sonny, I’ve told you that.”_ _

__“Did you?”_ _

__“Multiple times, I think.”_ _

__Rita clucks her tongue at him. “And yet never an introduction.”_ _

__“You were busy, not my fault you took that one case all the way to Albany.” Rafael curls his fingers into the universal hand gesture for phone and wiggles it in the air. “He’s taking a call. When he gets back, I’ll introduce you.”_ _

__“Albany,” Rita groans, like the city itself wronged her. “That was a logistical nightmare. Be thankful you don’t have to deal with junior associates anymore, they’re more trouble than they’re worth. Like puppies that need house training.”_ _

__Rafael drains what’s left of his scotch and tugs his tie loose. “Leaning a little heavily on the dog metaphors, Rita.”_ _

__“I’m thinking of getting one,” she says thoughtfully._ _

__“Stick to cats, less trouble.” Rita considers that for a moment before she plucks his empty glass up from the table and leaves to fetch him another drink. There’s a very good reason she’s one of his oldest friends. Rita reclaims the seat across from him just as Sonny ambles up to the table._ _

__Rafael nods up at him. “Bakery still standing?”_ _

__“So far,” Sonny says. Rita had taken his seat but Sonny doesn’t voice any complaint. He drags over a chair from another table and takes a seat next to Rafael, setting his beer down on the table next Rafael’s scotch._ _

__“Sonny, Rita. Rita, Sonny.” Rafael doesn’t even bother gesturing between the two of them, just lets his eyes bounce from one to the other and back again. He’s already told them about each other extensively, he doesn’t see why he should pretend he hasn’t or they should pretend not to recognize each other from name and reputation alone._ _

__“Good job,” Sonny says with a sarcastic pat to Rafael’s hand._ _

__“Honestly,” Rita says in a very _I despair of you_ sort of way._ _

__Sonny turns his attention to Rita and gives her his best charming smile. It’s pretty charming, in Rafael’s very biased opinion. “Nice to meet you. I’ve heard a lot.”_ _

__“All lies,” Rita insists._ _

__“Mostly about your professional accomplishments.”_ _

__“Okay, those are true,” Rita says and Rafael laughs._ _

__Sonny goes from charming to devilish in a matter of seconds. “And that whole streaking across the quad in February story?” He smirks at her from behind his beer and Rita glares daggers at Rafael._ _

__“You told him about that?”_ _

__“I was naked too, I figured it was fair game,” Rafael says, very unbothered by, and at this point fairly accustomed to, Rita’s glares._ _

__Rita hums and sits back in her chair to give Sonny an appraising look. “You’re pretty cute.”_ _

__Rafael buries his face in his hands and can hear Sonny stammer out, “Um, thank you?”_ _

__“And you survived meeting his mother.”_ _

__“No small feat,” Rafael acknowledges, pulling out of his slump to lift his glass along with the sentiment._ _

__“Aw she wasn’t so bad,” Sonny says. Rita and Rafael exchange looks that say they clearly disagree. “And the rest of your family was okay.”_ _

__“Because we left right after the service,” Rafael says. “The key when it comes to my extended family is limiting your exposure.”_ _

__Rita drains her martini and plunks the glass down on the table. “Also the key to successfully streaking in Cambridge in February.”_ _

__Sonny barks out a laugh at that and nods towards Rita and Rafael’s empty glasses. “Want me to get another round?”_ _

__“My last, I’m not in the mood to get messy today,” Rafael says._ _

__“Ah but last time you got messy you kissed me,” Sonny says, all smug grin and dimples._ _

__“Oh, do tell,” Rita interjects._ _

__Rafael pushes Sonny up out of his chair. “Okay, that’s enough, get us drinks, please.” The please is added very much as an afterthought but Sonny doesn’t seem to mind. He just laughs, gets up from his seat and dutifully heads towards the bar._ _

__“God, he’s like a sunbeam,” Rita says._ _

__Rafael pinches the bridge of his nose and shakes his head. “I honestly. Don’t know what he’s doing with me some days. Most days.”_ _

__“He makes you happy,” Rita says rather than asks, because she’s observant and has received all of Rafael’s texts to her over the course of his relationship with Sonny. “And you make him happy.”_ _

__“Do I?”_ _

__“Apparently. Though I know you’re likely incredibly suspicious of that,” Rita says. She picks the olive off of the toothpick laying in her empty martini glass and gestures like she’s going to throw it at him. Rafael just rolls his eyes at her and she smirks and pops the olive into her mouth. She chews and her smirk shifts to a concerned frown. “Do you need me to ask you if you’re okay?”_ _

__Rafael appreciates the wording of that and for a long moment he just looks at her, feeling very grateful that she’s his friend. “No,” he says finally. “But I’m glad you came today.”_ _

__Rita nods her head at him. “Of course.”_ _

__Sonny rejoins them at the table then with their drinks. Rita murmurs a thanks and then gets a devious glint in her eyes. “Sonny. Did Rafael ever tell you about the year we auditioned for one of the glee clubs on campus?”_ _

__Rafael groans. Sonny looks overcome with joy at the idea of hearing about collegiate Rafael’s misadventures into the world of acapella and leans towards Rita, eagerly hanging on her every word._ _

__By the time they say their goodbyes to Rita and leave the bar, Rafael is feeling just drunk enough. He convinces Sonny they should walk at least part of the way home and they slowly start to make their way downtown._ _

__“I lost my first tooth on that playground,” Rafael says, gesturing at what seemed at the time to be the best playground ever. Now Rafael can see it’s just a large patch of concrete with some monkey bars and slides._ _

__“That sounds like it was traumatizing, potentially,” Sonny says knowingly._ _

__“My friend Eddie and I were having a contest to do pull ups,” Rafael explains. “I wasn’t very good. I managed a few. On my last one I came down and whacked my mouth on the bar. Popped out three teeth at once.”_ _

__Sonny sucks in a breath and winces. “That must’ve hurt.”_ _

__“Eddie told me I was mostly just stunned and bleeding a lot,” Rafael says, laughing a bit thinking of what they must’ve looked like, Eddie dragging a wide-eyed and wounded Rafael back to their home._ _

__“Never trusted the monkey bars again, did ya?”_ _

__“No.”_ _

__“Here,” Sonny says as they continue making their way past the playground. He moves Rafael so he’s walking on the outside of the sidewalk, and Sonny is on the inside, between Rafael and the playground._ _

__“I don’t think they’re going to come to life and demand the rest of my teeth,” Rafael says._ _

__“Well, you never know.”_ _

__Rafael remembers Eddie delivering him to his grandmother who had murmured all the right sympathetic things to him in Spanish. “My abuela let me eat popsicles the rest of the day. I think. If I remember correctly.” His throat feels suddenly sore from grief and he has to cough to clear it, his eyes watering a bit when he does._ _

__Sonny just takes his hand and after a few blocks asks, “You okay?”_ _

__Rafael doesn’t feel like lying so he just says, “I’m going to miss her.”_ _

__“She sounds like she was pretty great.”_ _

__“She was ridiculous,” Rafael says, laughing. “She thought I walked on water. I could’ve probably robbed a liquor store in front of her and she would’ve said I’d done the best job robbing a liquor store she’d seen all year.”_ _

__Sonny shrugs at him, swinging their joined hands. “I dunno, I mean. Your dad was an asshole. And not around. Your mom was busy trying to make money and stuff, right?”_ _

__“Right.”_ _

__“I think she just wanted to make sure you knew someone loved you, like, a lot,” Sonny says._ _

__“My mother loved me.”_ _

__“I know she did, I just. Look, I don’t know, I could be wrong, don’t--”_ _

__“No, I.” Rafael stops walking and tips his head up at Sonny. “I just hadn’t thought about that. That way.”_ _

__Sonny shrugs again and looks off to the side, like maybe he regrets voicing his opinion and Rafael doesn’t feel like letting that stand. He pulls Sonny in by their joined hands and presses a kiss to his cheek._ _

__“Thank you.”_ _

__*_ _

__There are moments, his first few days back at work, where he gets distracted or has to remind himself that his abuela is gone. They’re fleeting but deeply unpleasant moments. It helps that Sonny starts spending more nights at Rafael’s apartment. They don’t really talk about it or plan it, it just happens and Rafael isn’t about to refuse a gift like that._ _

__Especially not now that Sonny has told his mother that they’re seeing each other. Sonny’s said little about it since, but Rafael gets a vague idea that Sonny’s mother isn’t being very kind about the whole thing. Rafael sympathizes with her grieving, now more than ever, but he also wants to take the ferry to Staten Island himself and shake some sense into her some days._ _

__Rafael’s thinking of Sonny’s vague texts from earlier in the day that alluded to further discord with his mother and how best to distract him later that evening when he gets a request to meet with building security._ _

__“Did you lose your key card again?” Carmen asks him, giving him a subtly judging look._ _

__“That happened one time.”_ _

__“Two times,” Carmen corrects._ _

__Rafael inwardly curses Carmen’s good memory. “Okay two times. And no. I haven’t. Not that I know of.”_ _

__“All I know is they insisted on me adding them to your calendar this afternoon,” Carmen says._ _

__“Pray this has nothing to do with one of my cases.” He’s really not in the mood for any bomb threat nonsense derailing anything on his docket._ _

__Later, Rafael will admit that he doesn’t remember many of the details of the meeting with security. He can’t say for sure if he managed to respond when they outlined the massive increase in threats being directed to his office. He does remember their instructions to take note of any emails or voicemails he receives that could be described as threatening. He’s to report it to them, hand over the evidence, and continue with his work. He thinks they tell him that there’s little coordination involved in the threats and that the odds of anything truly coming to pass is low, but Rafael can’t be sure. He spends the rest of his day with a bitter taste in his mouth._ _

__*_ _

__He goes home--not early, but something close to on time for reasonable people, which Rafael supposes counts as early for him. His mind drifts in the cab and because he’s morose and a lawyer he thinks about the last time he updated his will. He supposes he’ll have to revisit it, write his abuela out, maybe add a charity or two. Maybe he’ll add Sonny. Rafael doesn’t have many people in his life he would leave much of anything to, and who knows at this point if he has years ahead of him to see where this thing with Sonny goes or if some blue lives matter sycophant is going to take him out with a gun the next time he steps into a bodega. Rafael’s hands clench into fists in his lap. He feels overcome by the weight of his anger, at small minded group-thinkers for the violent lengths they’ll go to, at his abuela for not being here anymore, at security for even telling him about this shit when he didn’t need to know, at himself, at the world._ _

__He’s at his apartment door before he remembers Sonny’s plans to come over after work. He can hear Sonny’s voice inside the apartment--it tends to travel, especially when he’s speaking to family, which, judging from the increasingly frustrated pitch of his voice, he must be. Rafael stops himself just short of opening the door. His anger from the whole idiotic threat business is still simmering underneath his skin and he doesn’t want Sonny to see that. He drops his forehead down onto his front door with a thunk and breathes for just a moment, listening as Sonny finishes up his phone call, the unintelligible but familiar sound of his voice helping Rafael to wind himself down._ _

__When he opens the door, Sonny is sitting in the living room, his phone sitting face down in front of him, a fairly clear indication of how his conversation went. He still manages to greet Rafael with a smile, though, and it’s a stunning, amazing, and horrible thing, that._ _

__“Hi,” Rafael says and he drops his briefcase to the floor before haphazardly shrugging out of his jacket._ _

__“You okay?” Sonny asks, eyeing the unceremonious lump Rafael leaves his jacket in like it’s cause for concern, which--fair enough._ _

__“It was a day,” Rafael says. “I’m glad it’s over.”_ _

__Sonny frowns and stands up from the couch. “Is it okay I’m here?”_ _

__If he were a better person maybe he’d ask Sonny to leave, for his own good if not for Rafael’s. But Rafael had let Sonny sleep in his bed, let Sonny keep clothes here, let Sonny hold his hand at his abuela’s funeral. He’s a fool if he thinks there’s any cutting Sonny out of his life now. Rafael’s doomed them both. “If it weren’t, I’d tell you.”_ _

__“True. You want to talk about whatever’s bugging you then? If it’s not me?”_ _

__“It’s not you, and I don’t have it in me to soothe your ego more beyond that so please believe me,” Rafael says as he reaches up to yank his tie open._ _

__“I believe you,” Sonny says, walking up to stand in front of him with his hands held up in surrender. He tips his head to one side and looks at Rafael with worry written all over his face. “Seriously, though. You need to talk about it?”_ _

__“No,” Rafael says, sighing. He nods towards Sonny’s phone. “Do you need to talk about it?”_ _

__Sonny grimaces. “No.”_ _

__“Good, so for tonight may I suggest avoidance, scotch and a blow job?” Rafael shrugs. “Or hand job. That part is flexible.”_ _

__Sonny huffs out a bewildered laugh and pulls Rafael in for a kiss. “Yeah. Okay. I think I can get on board with that plan.”_ _

__Rafael swallows down his anger and his anxiety and threads his fingers through Sonny’s hair. There will be time, he thinks, to tell Sonny about the threats if he must, for Sonny to share what his family has done now to complicate his life. There has to be, Rafael refuses to believe there won’t. Whether they’ll come out the other side, whole, and together, is another question._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not Cuban, but I do research and have Cuban friends who have reassured me the funeral tradition described in this chapter is real.


	4. Sonny

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welllll this took much longer than expected, huh? My. Bad. I posted the first two chapters because I knew things in real life were gonna get hectic, managed to get the third chapter up before things did, and then womp womp, you know the rest. Apologies for the awful delay, hopefully it was worth the wait. Also you'll notice there's been a part added, that's because I wrote an epilogue and taking it onto the end of Part 4 felt...weird. So it's its own thing now. 
> 
> Also, thanks to Cole for blatantly enabling me when it came to cutting a scene from this I absolutely did not want to write. VICTORY.
> 
> WARNING in this chapter for a character making a joke about suicide. The character has no intention of acting on any suicidal ideation, they're just tired and melodramatic and making a very bad joke. (It's not funny, he's being a shit, and that's clear in the scene, but. Still.) 
> 
> As was the case before, translations for any Spanish or Italian are at the end of the chapter.

Sonny can’t believe he’s spending his Friday night doing _math_ but sure enough, here he is, staring down at a jumble of equations. He’s run the numbers a couple times and the end result never really changes much, no matter how much tweaking he does. And yet, he keeps redoing them. He underlines a couple numbers but they stay low and disappointing. They just have decorative flair, now. Sonny flips to a clean page of the legal pad.

“You’re glaring pretty hard over there,” Rafael says as he interrupts Sonny's internal stewing about budgets.

Sonny scribbles down some numbers--electric bill, gas bill, operating costs--and grunts in response. “Yeah, sorry.”

“Is it the movie? Because, need I remind you, you picked this one.”

Sonny looks up from the legal pad and frowns at Rafael’s TV. He can’t for the life of him place the people or the plot. “I did?”

Rafael pauses the movie Sonny was doing a poor job of watching. “Okay,” he says before he tosses the remote to the far end of the couch, dismissing it and any chance of movie-watching. He fixes Sonny with a knowing look. “What’s going on.”

“Nothing, nothing, just...” Sonny gestures at the legal pad. “Trying to make money appear out of thin air.”

“You couldn’t switch off your bakery brain for one movie,” Rafael says knowingly. Judging by his tone he’s a little annoyed about that, but also not terribly surprised. 

“I guess not,” Sonny says slowly. He can’t actually even remember when he grabbed the legal pad from one of the piles Rafael has scattered throughout his apartment. Was it before dinner, or after? Did he arrive, kiss his boyfriend hello, and then immediately start leaking his budgetary woes onto paper? Jeez, he kinda hopes not, but it’s not looking great.

“You want to tell me about it or do you want a beer?”

“Both,” Sonny says and Rafael chuckles as he gets up from the couch. When he comes back he has a beer for Sonny and a glass of scotch for himself. Rafael hands Sonny the beer and sits down on the couch further away then he had been sitting when the idea was they’d cuddle up and watch a movie. Sonny pouts a little at the distance between them now and Rafael shakes his head at him before clearing his throat and returning them to the point at hand.

“Okay, so,” Rafael prompts, “tell me.”

Sonny takes a long sip of his beer and stares down at the legal pad. The numbers sort of blur together as his eyes go unfocused. “Just, uh. Math. Budgeting. Business stuff.” He clears his throat and hopes it’s not super obvious that he was looking for a magical solution to emerge from long division. He’s pretty sure that would require alchemy, not algebra.

“Okay,” Rafael says, not looking very impressed with that response, and Sonny winces. “Numbers make you almost nonverbal. Noted.”

“Numbers and loads of familial guilt.”

Rafael presses his lips together at that, like he knows they’re wandering further into conversational territory that requires some caution. “Same guilt as usual or is this new?”

Sonny sways his head from side to side, mulling that over. “Usual. Ish.” 

“Do you want me to help? I might be better at math than you.”

“That wouldn’t be hard,” Sonny says. “Uh, but, actually. If you really wanted to help, there’s something you could look over for me?”

“Sure.”

Sonny digs into his aging messenger bag and pulls out a small stack of papers that he hands to Rafael. “I’m pretty sure I can break this lease, but I’d feel better having a second pair of eyes on it...”

Rafael sets his scotch down on the coffee table and holds the papers up. “Just so you know, my hourly rate is pretty hefty.”

“You’re gonna charge me a whole hour for this?”

“I didn’t spend very long in corporate law, but the first thing they taught me was: when you bill clients, always round up.” Rafael smirks, a little bit of smarm working its way across his face and Sonny just snorts out a laugh. Rafael probably could pass as being soulless just fine a couple months, maybe a year, at those big firms, but Sonny can still see his truth, justice, etc, boiling underneath. Rafael isn’t quite as good at pretending not to care as he thinks he is, and it kind of delights Sonny that he recognizes the cracks in Rafael’s mask. Rafael flips through the lease, it’s not a very long one, and after a few minutes he hands the papers back to Sonny with a flip of his wrist. “You’re fine. As long as you give your tenant 30 days notice, you’re well within your rights to ask him to leave.”

Sonny huffs out a breath of relief and mentally checks one worry off his ever-growing list. “Great, thank you.”

Rafael picks up his scotch again and leans back into his seat. “I didn’t realize your family owned the building the bakery was in.” He sounds like he’s trying a bit too hard to be casual about that and Sonny wonders if it’s something he should’ve mentioned before, that the building has been in the family for years. 

His grandparents had come from some decent money back in the old country, so they settled with the cash to buy a place right away. It wasn’t the usual story and Sonny knew he and his family were lucky, in that regard. He pulled a bit of a face just trying to imagine buying or renting property in that part of Manhattan now.

“Yeah, we’ve owned it for generations back,” Sonny tells Rafael.

“And you want to kick out the tenant living above the bakery,” Rafael says, gesturing to the lease in Sonny’s hands now.

“Yeah.”

“So you can move in?”

“What?” Sony laughs, surprised, and stuffs the lease back into his bag. “No. Uh. I want to offer it to Bella and Tommy. They have the baby coming and everything…”

Rafael looks like he has a few things he wants to say to that and he’s considering which one to offer up. Finally, after what looks like a lengthy internal debate, he says, “But you could live there.”

Sonny shrugs. “I need it less.”

“According to who?”

Sonny doesn’t know the answer to that so he slowly turns his gaze towards his shoes and shrugs again. He hears Rafael sigh and then a hard clunk that can only be his glass of scotch being set pointedly down on the coffee table. Sonny rubs at his face and doesn’t see any sense in pretending that this isn’t going exactly where it is. 

“Are we having this fight now?”

“I think we’ve kicked the can down the road long enough, don’t you?” Rafael doesn’t sound any happier about it than Sonny. 

“I need the apartment less,” Sonny repeats, figuring it’s as good a place as any to start this uncomfortable conversation.

“Your mother is driving you nuts,” Rafael retorts swiftly, like he’s had the counterargument tucked in his pocket for days, which, he may very well have. “And your commute hasn’t magically become less brutal.”

“I can handle it.”

Rafael picks up his scotch again and Sonny suspects he has no intention of taking a drink, but wanted to give himself a prop with which to glare more dramatically at Sonny. It’s infuriating and effective. “This is you handling it? You look like a cancer patient.”

“Wow,” Sonny says and for once he’s not charmed by Rafael’s sharp tongue. He shakes his head at Rafael, who just makes a _what_ gesture with the hand holding his drink. Sonny doesn’t feel like he can stay seated on the couch anymore and stands up in a rush to pace along the length of the coffee table. It makes him feel better, somehow, and makes it a little easier to shove away the nagging suspicion that Rafael isn’t wrong. 

“I don’t know what you want me to tell you, Raf.” Sonny shrugs with his whole upper body this time, his arms coming out to flop at his sides in defeat. “It’s my family.”

“I know,” Rafael says, thumbing at the furrowed skin between his eyebrows like he’s forcing back a headache. He looks up at Sonny, mouth twisted in something like sympathy. “I know how important they are to you.”

“Yeah.”

“But you’re important to me,” Rafael says. He flops a hand out after he’s done like, _there it is._

Sonny swallows hard and has to look away. He tips his head down and stares at the space of hardwood floor between his feet, lets it fade in and out of focus. He takes a shaky breath in before he says, “this is just. What I’m supposed to do.”

“Jesus,” Rafael says, as bewildered as he is exasperated. “Do you _hear_ yourself? What you’re supposed to do. According to who?”

Sonny reaches down deep to find an answer to that and comes up empty. The constant claw of worry in his stomach stretches up into his throat and brings with it a sharp panic. “I don’t know,” he says. It takes work, his stomach muscles cramping up, to force the words up and out of his mouth. “I don’t know.”

*

Rafael hadn’t exactly kicked Sonny out, but it had felt weird to stay after their fight. If you can even call an uncomfortable conversation where no yelling happens a fight. Sonny’s not sure. When he was a kid, fights in his house involved a lot of shouting and slammed doors. When he’d later had it out with a couple partners before inevitable breakups, everything had been very loud and dramatic, lots of flailing hands and screaming. Noise had been a universal factor, the riot before the inevitable quiet. His disagreement with Rafael had been downright subdued, comparatively. It’s not what Sonny is used to, and it makes him feel off-kilter. 

Rafael, bless him, had made a point to tell Sonny before he left that he wasn’t suggesting they never see each other again. Rather, this was a case of Sonny probably having a lot of thinking to do that’s probably best done alone.

Sonny had wanted to argue the point with him but he wasn’t wrong, was the thing, and they both knew it. So Sonny had accepted Rafael’s kiss goodbye and headed back to Staten Island. He had thought briefly about going back to his mother’s but he wasn’t sure seeing her right now was the best idea. 

Which is how he finds himself on Teresa’s doorstep. She looks a little surprised to see him at first, then just concerned. “Why are you here looking like a kicked puppy?” She jabs an accusatory finger in his face. “Did that lawyer of yours say something to you.”

“No, jeez, not really--”

“Did Ma say something to you?”

“Can I come inside please, and I will tell you and maybe not the whole friggin’ neighborhood?” He flaps his hands at the street behind him--empty now, but he knows from brutal experience how quickly gossipy old ladies can congregate, here. Teresa finally seems to get it and opens the door wider for Sonny to come in. 

They wind up, predictably, in the kitchen. Teresa plunks a plate of antipasto down in front of Sonny before she asks, “Alright, what happened?”

Sonny hadn’t asked for anything to eat, but he isn’t about to call Teresa out on her reflexive Italian-ness, either. He pokes at a pile of olives and shrugs. “Rafael and I had a fight,” he says. When he sees Teresa glare in response he adds, “He wasn’t totally wrong.”

“Alright,” she says slowly. 

“He says I do too much for other people and that I’m gonna have a melt down. Or something.” 

Teresa slumps out of her stern stance, hip knocking back against her fridge with a thump as she lets out a, “huh.” She tips her chin up at Sonny. “What do you think?”

“I dunno,” he says, sighing. “I think whatever I’m doing now...doesn’t feel like it’s working.”

“Okay.”

Sonny chews at his lower lip and confesses, “Doesn’t really feel like living, either.”

“Sonny,” Teresa says, her voice all sad and sympathetic and Sonny knows she means well but it makes him want to crawl under the kitchen table. 

“Don’t, okay?” He groans, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. “Just. Don’t.”

“Okay, okay, I won’t,” she says and she somehow knows what he means even though he’s not really throwing her any big hints as to where his mind is right now. Maybe she’s not so awful at the big sister thing after all, he thinks a little hysterically. “So. You don’t like how things are, huh?”

“No.”

“You want them to change?”

“Yeah,” he says. That feels easy enough to agree to. “I don’t know how, though. Or in what way. Or how to even start--”

“That’s okay,” Teresa says quickly. “You don’t have to have all those answers right away. You can think about it.”

Sonny snorts. “That’s all you got? Think about it?”

Teresa gives him a look like she’s going to take back her antipasto and Sonny quickly pops a tiny ball of marinated mozzarella into his mouth. 

“No, Scooch4, ” she says, and that’s just dirty pool, using the name their father used to use for them when they were being obnoxious. “But I never thought you’d get to this point so I don’t wanna rush anything and make it worse for you or have you freak out or whatever.”

“Oh.” Sonny picks up some pepperoni and plays with it more than he makes any move to eat it. “Okay.”

“Think about how you want things to change. With Ma. With work.” Teresa shrugs at him. “Think about where you wanna end up. Start with that.”

“Alright,” Sonny says slowly. He feels a bit like he’s been backed over by a truck. He’s not sure if a person’s entire psyche can be exhausted, but if it’s possible, he’s definitely embodying it right now. “Can I stay here tonight?”

“If Ma calls, I’ll reassure her you didn’t die in a ditch,” Teresa says, agreeing. 

“Would solve a lot of my problems, though,” Sonny quips. Teresa’s on him before he can even blink, smacking him upside the back of the head. “Ow, what the fuck--”

“Don’t even joke about that, asshole,” she snaps.

“Jeez, okay!”

Her well-manicured finger is in his face, driving her point home. “Are you suicidal? Don’t lie to me, Sonny. Don’t tell me what you think everyone wants to hear. You don’t need to take care of me, I’m a grown woman with a kid of my own.”

“No, fuck, okay, I’m sorry,” he says and swats her finger away from prime eye-poking range. “I wasn’t thinking.”

“No shit,” she says and her glare softens just a bit. “You probably haven’t been thinking since Pop died.”

“Probably not,” Sonny agrees quietly. 

Teresa takes a step back and just like that she’s all comfort again. Sonny forgets sometimes how terrifying the women in his family can be. And how brilliant. “I’ll get you a blanket,” she says. “You can share the couch with Pudge.” 

Pudge is Teresa’s cat. “Gee, thanks,” Sonny says dryly. 

*

Sonny wakes up on Teresa’s couch with a very heavy weight on his stomach. He stares at the ceiling of his sister’s living room and wonders if he’ll ever be free of the stress and anxiety that seems to have balled up inside his body--until he’s finally awake enough to realize the weight on his stomach is literally weight on his stomach in the form of Teresa’s fat cat.

“Hi, Uncle Sonny,” a chipper voice calls. Sonny tips his head back and sees his niece Angie in her school uniform, clearly laughing at him. 

“Yeah, hey,” he says, still a little groggy. He gestures towards Pudge. “You mind?”

“I mean, you are kind of in her spot,” Angie reasons. 

“That’s great, I feel very loved by my niece right now,” Sonny gripes and he smiles when it works to get Angie laughing. 

“Stop complaining,” Teresa says as she marches into the room and plunks a mug down on the table next to him. “I made you coffee. And I called Bella, told her you’d be in a little late.”

“Shit, what time is it?”

“It’s fine, I handled it,” Teresa says firmly and the way Angie shakes her head at Sonny tells him there’s no use pushing her on this point. “You’ll get there in plenty of time to make the second round of morning pastries.” Sonny forgets, sometimes, that Teresa grew up in that bakery too, she knows how the schedule works. 

Sonny can’t be _that_ late, then. He squints at his niece. “Yeesh, what are you doing up at this hour?”

“School starts stupid early now, Uncle Sonny,” Angie says earnestly. 

“She’s lying to you, she has her SAT prep class before homeroom,” Teresa says and points at the door. “Speaking of which--”

“Okay, I’m going,” Angie whines in that particular way only teenagers can. She waves goodbye to her mother and her uncle and then flounces out the door. 

“How can she be awake enough to do SAT prep at this hour?” Sonny asks, groaning at just the thought. 

“She’s young,” Teresa quips. “And she has no choice, she can’t do after school, she has soccer. Or French club. Or yearbook club.”

“French?”

Teresa snorts. “Don’t even get me started.” She crosses to the couch and picks up Pudge, who lets out a small chirp of discontent at being moved. “You sure you’re okay going into work?”

“I’ll be fine,” Sonny says, sitting up and clamoring for the cup of coffee she’d left him. Teresa just stares at him as seriously as one can when one still has a large cat under one’s arm. Sonny sighs and crosses himself before telling her, “I promise. I’ll be fine.”

*

Sonny hadn’t realized just how many nights he was spending at Rafael’s until the two of them agreed to take some time apart. Suddenly the drive from Manhattan to Staten Island feels three times longer. He walks into his mother’s house and hates it--everything about it. The house he grew up in, the one that used to remind him of his childhood and all its quirks, now just feels like it’s tightening around him, boxing him in, choking him off.

His mom, to her credit, seems to get that he’s not in the best mood. Finally, after days of giving him passive aggressive crap about the bakery and having “some guy friend,” she gives him a wide berth. Sonny’s not sure what must be written all over his face to actually get the message across that she should leave him alone, but he’s also not gonna argue, not if it’s _working_.

His ma only asks him what’s going on once, and she does it with the minimal amount of effort, handing him a to-go cup of coffee one morning before work and asking, “you okay?”

Sonny surprises himself when he replies, on his way out the door, “Nope.” 

He sits in his car for a long moment before starting it. He’s not okay, he’s not okay, he’s not. For just a minute, he lets himself sink into it, the not okay-ness. It feels awful, but even just letting himself feel awful also feels strangely...good? Sonny rubs at his forehead and starts his car.

By the time he gets to the bakery he’s back in “I’m fine” land, ready with it when Bella asks how he’s doing. Judging by Bella’s grimace, she only sort of buys it. 

Sonny reminds himself not to take any of this out on Tommy, who’s back in the bakery for instruction. He's showing even more improvement and that deserves encouragement, not Sonny turning into a flaming angst dragon about stuff that isn't Tommy's fault. Sonny grips his third cup of coffee of the day tighter and nods approvingly at Tommy’s newest attempt at puff pastry. 

He starts staying at the bakery late and leaving his mom’s house early. It eats into the small amount of sleep the commute and job afford him, but he doesn’t care. He can’t be at his mom’s place. He can’t be at the bakery either, he finds, but that’s unavoidable. 

“Sonny, you okay?” Tommy asks on the fifth day of Sonny’s coffee-and-stubbornness fueled schedule. 

“I’m fine,” he says reflexively and pushes the sleeves of his sweatshirt up. He thinks it’s the same one he wore yesterday. He doesn’t care. “Alright, let’s talk biscotti, okay?”

*

By Friday, Sonny feels strung out, simultaneously over and under caffeinated, and he misses Rafael. They’ve texted a little, but Rafael is always busy with work and Sonny feels so scraped raw he worries that if he texts Raf too much he’ll end up spewing out his feelings into some horrifyingly long word vomit of a text and Rafael will wonder why he was ever seeing Sonny in the first place and find someone much more accomplished and less emotionally fucked up to date. 

Sonny flings his phone down on to the bakery counter top and leaves it there, ignoring Bella’s look of _what the fuck_. He waves her off and stomps into the backroom where Tommy’s putting some finishing touches on a new batch of muffins. 

“Hey, good, uh, good job,” Sonny says, nodding at the muffins. Complementing Tommy is still sort of awkward. They’ve never had a contentious relationship but Tommy’s been a lovable fuck up for so long that Sonny keeps having to bite back reflexive, snarky comments when he sees Tommy’s work. 

“Thanks,” Tommy says, looking about as awkward receiving the complement as Sonny is giving it. “I was going to start some cannoli filling, next, but you said you had some tips on that?”

“Oh, yeah,” Sonny says, rubbing at his eyes for a moment. “That last batch you did was fine, but if you mix some mascarpone in with the ricotta you get a smoother texture.”

Tommy makes a considering noise and starts gathering ingredients. “I thought it was all ricotta.”

“The sfogliatelle is all ricotta,” Sonny corrects. His eyes hurt again and he’s feeling just a little light headed. He probably needs some more coffee. “It’d be a whole lot easier if we could use the same filling for both, obviously, but no can do.”

Tommy laughs a little at that and tips a bowl with ricotta in it towards Sonny for inspection. Sonny nods, okaying the amount in the bowl. “Bella was telling me she used to put lemon zest in it.”

“Yeah she did, she still does that, I don’t think it makes a difference,” Sonny says, flapping his hand in the air. His vision tilts a little and he wonders if his sinuses are being wonky. “Not enough of a difference for it to be worth it anyway, you only use the zest and then you got all these weird naked lemons and I’m not making lemon curd, it doesn’t go in anything we serve.”

“I’m gonna pretend I followed that,” Tommy says, smile never dimming. 

“Yeah, you do that,” Sonny says and now, yeah, he definitely feels a little unsteady. He lurches forward, catching himself on the prep table.

“Sonny? You okay?”

Sonny thinks he opens his mouth to respond, but he’s not sure if he actually does or not--and that’s the last thing he remembers for a little while. 

He comes to flat on his back, the worried faces of Tommy and Teresa hovering over him. 

“What are you doing here,” he mumbles in Teresa’s direction before turning his face so he’s not staring right up at the ceiling lights, they’re a little too bright for his tastes right now. 

Teresa lets out an angry snort. “You passed out, you stunad5.”

“I what?”

“You just keeled right over in the middle of talking about ricotta filling,” Tommy says, his eyes wide with panic. “I almost called an ambulance.”

“Crap, no, don’t do that,” Sonny says, groaning. His head hurts, but not enough to stop him from squashing that idea flat. “The bill for those things have commas in ‘em for crying out loud.”

“I didn’t, I promise,” Tommy says quickly, holding his hands up to show that he's not even holding a phone anymore. “I didn’t call an ambulance.”

“He called me instead,” Teresa says and, well, that explains that. Sonny groans again and squeezes his eyes shut, preparing himself for the lecture to end all lectures from Teresa. He’s not sure if maybe he wouldn’t rather have the ambulance after all. 

Through the doorway to the front of the bakery Sonny can just make out the sound of muffled shouting and the click of high heels. A moment later, Bella and Gina tumble into the kitchen, clearly in the middle of an argument--over what, Sonny neither knows nor cares. 

Sonny glances at all three of his sisters and then scrubs furiously at his own face like maybe that’ll do it, that’ll wake him up. When that doesn’t work and he’s forced to recognize this is reality, he settles for shooting a glare at Tommy. “You called Gina, too?”

“No, I called Gina,” Bella says, stomping over to him, Gina following right behind. 

Gina looks impeccable--she always does--and folds her arms over her chest while arching an eyebrow down at her brother. “Jesus, Sonny, what’d you do?”

“Nothing,” he insists, not sure when this became _his fault_. 

“He works too hard,” Teresa says. 

“I mean, no shit, but this is different,” Gina argues, gesturing wildly at where Sonny is still prone on the floor. “Is he dying?” She squints at Sonny. “Are you dying?”

“I’m not dying.”

Bella snorts. “I mean, you barely sleep or eat--”

“Sonny, you gotta feed yourself for christ’s sake,” Gina says as Teresa adds, “Not sleeping is how Pop stressed his heart out, you know.”

“The three of you are gonna stress my heart right out of my body,” Sonny says flinging his hand up from his chest and towards the ceiling to drive the point home. 

“Maybe you should see a doctor,” Gina continues, like Sonny never said a thing, which is just so Gina that Sonny could cry. “I got a guy in the village, he’s great.”

Forgetting that people with budgets exist is also very Gina. “I can’t see your fancy doctor, Gina, I don’t work for Prada,” Sonny says. Gina just frowns at him, confused, and gestures towards the bakery around them. Sonny rolls his eyes, which hurts a little, and says, “I barely make any money here.”

Bella chokes out an infuriated noise and now it’s her turn to glare at Sonny. “Did you give yourself another pay cut?” She doesn’t even wait for him to answer, she just flails her arms into the air, exasperated. “Sonny, seriously, you’re going to self-sacrifice yourself into sainthood.”

“He’d never qualify,” Gina says.

Teresa tips her head to the side, considering it. “Too gay?”

“Nah, he never gives shit up for lent, but the gay thing too, I guess.”

Sonny just whines and slings his arm over his eyes. Maybe if he just stays real still his sisters will bicker amongst themselves and forget he’s here and he can just slip away while they’re busy re-litigating the case of who stole whose sweater from twenty years ago or something equally inane. 

It’s not a great plan but it’s all Sonny’s throbbing head can come up with and it’s fine, it’s workable. Except that’s when, just underneath the din of his sisters, he hears a new but very familiar voice ask, “What’s going on?”

Sonny hopes, foolishly, that he’s somehow hallucinating Rafael’s voice joining this circus. The way his sisters have all gone silent, though, is kind of a dead giveaway. Sonny brings his arm away from his face and tips his head up and, yeah, that’s Rafael standing in the doorway. He’s dressed for court and his briefcase is in his right hand and Amanda’s standing just past his left shoulder, looking very amused by what she’s seeing. 

“Oh right,” Tommy says meekly and when Sonny looks at him he offers up an apologetic shrug. “I _did_ call your boyfriend."

“Please tell me you didn’t call my mom,” Sonny says, because the last thing he needs right now is his mother bursting through the bakery doors.

“No,” Tommy says quickly.

“Are you kidding?” Teresa says at the same time Bella shouts, “He’s not _new_ here.”

Gina’s busy squinting down at Rafael’s shoes and Sonny should’ve seen that coming, they both share an appreciation for fashion. “Are those this season’s Dior Homme?”

Rafael’s mouth quirks up into a smile. “Last season. I’m a civil servant.”

“We should definitely talk later,” Gina says in an excited tone she usually saves for year-end sales at Barney’s. 

“Maybe for now we should let Sonny and his boyfriend talk,” Tommy suggests. 

“Tommy’s my new favorite,” Sonny announces to the room, his voice a little wobbly. “Sorry. You’ve all been replaced.”

“I’m very broken up about that,” Teresa drones. Tommy’s beaming at Sonny, which makes Sonny feel a little guilty. In no universe is Tommy actually beating out Sonny’s sisters for position as favorite.

“Did you hear that,” Tommy asks Bella, excited.

“I did,” she says with the certainty of someone who knows she’s actually the favorite. She pushes at Tommy, ushering him out the back room. “Let’s go.”

Teresa’s the last one out the door, looking a little reluctant to go, but she finally slips through the doorway after giving Sonny a considerate glare. 

Once the coast is clear of Carisi sisters, Sonny thinks it’s probably past time to get up off the floor. He winces a little--he feels sore _everywhere_ \--and shuffles back a bit before he attempts to sit up. It doesn’t go great. His vision swims in front of him and then Rafael and Amanda are on either side of him, helping him slowly to a nearby chair.

“I’m okay,” Sonny protests weakly as they drop him gently down on the chair. 

“Yeah, I totally buy that,” Amanda says. 

“Blonde and annoyed, you could practically be a Carisi sister,” Sonny grumps. He gestures at Amanda and turns towards Rafael. “What, you thought you needed backup? The floor didn’t take me out or anything, I fainted.”

Rafael opens his mouth to answer but Amanda beats him to the punch with a cheerful, “I’m his babysitter today.”

“Babysitter?”

Rafael winces and Amanda takes a small step away from them both, turning a weary expression towards Rafael. “You didn’t tell him?” she asks.

“Tell me what?” Sonny asks. 

Rafael ignores Sonny in favor of glaring at Amanda. “We’re here because he fainted, what makes you think he needs another stressor right now?” 

“Hi,” Sonny snarks, poking Rafael in the side. “I’m still in the room. Actually. So.”

“Right, I’ll let you two talk,” Amanda says and she gives a wide-eyed, pointed, look at Rafael like, _you better talk _before leaving the room.__

__“Are you okay?” Rafael asks, dipping down to look Sonny in the eye, his hands prodding gently at Sonny’s temples._ _

__“Yeah, yeah,” Sonny insists. Other than the sensitivity to light, his sore head and stiff neck, he’s totally great. “I’m fine, Raf, I swear, you didn’t need to come all the way down here--”_ _

__“It’s a ten minute car ride at most,” Rafael says. “Detective Rollins has a lead foot so she made it closer to six.”_ _

__“Yeah, about that.” Sonny lets Rafael fuss at him before he grabs at Rafael’s wandering hands, forcing him to be still. “Babysitter?”_ _

__Rafael presses his lips together and sighs. For a moment it looks like he’s going to avoid the question, but there’s not much room for him to do so, figuratively or literally. Sonny presses in closer to Rafael in their already close quarters and lifts his eyebrows at him. He can see when Rafael gives in, his shoulders slumping, his eyes looking up towards the ceiling for a moment._ _

__“There may have been some threats,” Rafael says._ _

__“Threats?”_ _

__“Yes.”_ _

__“Like.” Sonny blinks. “ _Violent_ threats?”_ _

__“Yes.”_ _

__“Jesus fuck, Raf,” Sonny says and he doesn’t even cross himself after to ask for permission for the blasphemy. He just flails his hands in the air in alarm and stares wide-eyed at Rafael._ _

__“Okay, this is why I didn’t tell you,” Rafael says and it’s his turn to grab at Sonny’s still fidgeting fingers. He holds Sonny’s hands gently in his and guides them down to his lap, where they’re much less likely to hit either one of them in the face._ _

__Sonny’s face twists up with pain as another twinge of _oh fuck ow_ works its way through his head. After the pain fades he tips his head forward and stares down at this shoes. He watches as Rafael slowly slides into view, kneeling down in front of Sonny. “This is a mess,” Sonny grumbles. _ _

__“Can’t argue with you, there,” Rafael concedes. He reaches out to palm one of Sonny’s knees, his thumb caressing Sonny’s thigh. “Are you okay?”_ _

__Sonny snorts because Rafael’s the one with an NYPD escort and he’s asking Sonny that question? “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I just. I dunno, I didn’t eat or something.” Sonny can’t remember if he grabbed anything at home before he left. He hasn’t eaten since he got here, that’s for sure. And he’s running on about four hours of sleep--that doesn’t help._ _

__“I’d rather you didn’t forget to eat and then pass out,” Rafael says in an overly-polite tone. It’s like he’s not sure if he can ask something like that of Sonny anymore given their “still together but getting space” status and Sonny _hates_ that._ _

__“Yeah, it’s not much fun,” Sonny says, hoping that will reassure Rafael. His limbs feel like they’re on a time-delay, but he manages to get his hand down to rest over Rafael’s atop his knee. He blinks at Rafael, who has that worried look in his eyes again. Sonny feels something inside himself give way. “I’m tired.” He chokes out a bitter laugh and can feel his eyes starts to well up. “I’m just. I’m tired, Raf.”_ _

__Rafael clucks his tongue and brings his hand up to Sonny’s face, fingers glancing over Sonny’s temple, the corner of his tired eyes, the downward turn of his mouth. “I know you are,” Rafael whispers, sounding sad and defeated._ _

__“I don’t wanna feel like this anymore,” Sonny says and he breathes in, sharp, and it feels good even as it hurts._ _

__“Okay,” Rafael says, his face carefully blank._ _

__“I want to change things.”_ _

__Rafael exhales and tips forward, his forehead resting on their hands on Sonny’s knee for a moment before he pulls himself back up. “Don’t promise me anything. Not now, okay?” Rafael shakes his head. “You just passed out and hit your head. I don’t want you to make any grand statements. Please.”_ _

__Sonny wants to tell him he’s been thinking about this non-stop since their fight. That he talked it over with Teresa. That he’s started and erased over a hundred texts to Rafael apologizing, promising to quit, promising to manage his time better, promising the moon. He also knows Rafael’s history, that his dad was an asshole and an abusive alcoholic and god knows how many small scenes of regret and promised-redemption Rafael had to sit through only for nothing to ever change._ _

__“Okay, I won’t,” Sonny says, wiping at his eyes and feeling a tiny flicker of determination underneath all his layers of exhaustion. “Not now.”_ _

__“Thank you.”_ _

__“Probably need to do some more thinking,” Sonny admits because, well, he does. He still has no idea how to get started making things better. It’ll require some thought on his part and additional conversations with his sisters and--inevitably, unfortunately--his mother._ _

__“Probably,” Rafael echoes and he manages a small smile._ _

__“I don’t wanna...not see you, though,” Sonny says and he nervously fiddles with the hem of his sweatshirt, not entirely sure what he’ll do if Rafael says they can’t see each other until this whole thing gets settled one way to the other. The past week has been, well. Not great is putting it mildly._ _

__“No, that’s...not what I want either,” Rafael says and Sonny feels himself relax, just a little. “Maybe tomorrow night?”_ _

__“Yeah, that’s. Uh. Tomorrow's good.”_ _

__Rafael smiles at him and it feels a little less forced, now. “Please do your best to avoid passing out again before then.”_ _

__“I will,” Sonny says, letting out a rough chuckle. “That was. Not great?”_ _

__“Thank god for your hard head,” Rafael drones, his fingers drifting up to Sonny’s temple again._ _

__“Hey,” Sonny objects half-heartedly as he tilts his head into Rafael’s touch. “Be nice to me. And my head. That was a long drop.”_ _

__“Alright, if this is going to turn into a height joke--”_ _

__“No, no, I know better,” Sonny says, laughing as Rafael rolls his eyes because yes, obviously, that’s where Sonny was going with that. He slowly moves forward, weary of his own throbbing head, and presses a tentative kiss to Rafael’s cheek. “Thanks. For coming.”_ _

__“Of course,” Rafael says, like it’s simple, really. And maybe it isn’t, not yet, but Sonny is beginning to think it _could_ be._ _

__*_ _

__It takes some doing, meaning it takes exactly all three of his sisters shouting at him, but Sonny takes the day after his little fainting incident off from work. Bella insists she and Tommy can handle opening the bakery and Gina even offers to stop by and help out. Sonny asks Bella to get video of Gina selling pastries in her Prada heels and Gina threatens to give him another head injury. Teresa promises not her time, but her daughter’s, and Sonny feels a little guilty about that until Angie texts him some stern-looking emojis._ _

__“Take the day,” Bella says, practically issuing orders. “Do whatever you want. Think about whether you even _like_ baking anymore.”_ _

__“Oh, yeah, no pressure,” Sonny says, but he’s boiling over with gratitude and definitely cries a little, which Teresa acknowledges only by passing him a tissue._ _

__So, for the first time in a long time, possibly since his dad died, Sonny has a whole day in front of him with no commitments. No demands on his time. No family texting or phoning him._ _

__He does what any reasonable person would in this situation, which is: promptly have a mild panic attack._ _

__After he takes a xanax and lies down on the floor for a little while, he makes plans to go running with Rollins. She brings her dog, Frannie, and seems to know Sonny doesn’t have it in him to conquer their usual grueling exercise routine. They keep it light and spend the last twenty minutes of their ‘workout’ chucking a tennis ball for Frannie._ _

__“You know, if you ever need a dogsitter,” Sonny says, because he’s in love already, how could he not be?_ _

__“Please watch her at Barba’s,” Amanda cackles. “She’d chew up a loafer and I’d probably have to pay to replace it, but it’d be worth it.”_ _

__Sonny knows he probably shouldn’t be saying this, but, “He keeps all his shoes in this complicated caddy above the ground, so…” Sonny decides it’s worth whatever griping Rafael does later about Sonny’s “over-sharing” when Amanda laughs so hard water comes out her nose._ _

__Amanda has the day off too, so the two of them wander off from the park and get lunch nearby. It’s a place where they can eat outside in the almost-but-not-really spring weather and Frannie can blink sad eyes at them and beg for food. Which Sonny gives her. Because he’s not made out of stone, thanks._ _

__“Okay, enough,” Amanda says after Sonny’s fed Frannie half of their bread basket. “You’re undoing all my training work in one afternoon.”_ _

__“With carbs. Ultimate Italian weapon,” Sonny says, laughing._ _

__“Yeah, yeah.” Amanda moves the bread basket to another nearby table so Sonny, and Frannie, won’t be tempted further. “So…”_ _

__“So?”_ _

__“Barba told you?” Amanda gestures vaguely. “About the thing?”_ _

__“The people threatening to kill him, thing? _That_ thing?” Sonny tilts his head and gives her a very unamused look. “Yeah. He told me.”_ _

__“We’re looking into it,” she promises. “We’re pretty sure we know who’s behind it. And there’s no indication that he’s in any real danger--”_ _

__“Oh so the NYPD shadowing is for kicks, huh?”_ _

__Amanda rolls her eyes. “We have to show we take the threat seriously. You know. You were a cop.”_ _

__“Yeah,” Sonny says dryly. He does know, is the thing, but he doesn’t feel like admitting that, not now. He starts tearing his paper napkin into tiny pieces since he doesn’t have any bread to play with. “Moments like these, I kinda wish I still were.”_ _

__Amanda pokes at his hand to make sure Sonny’s looking at her before she says, “We really are doing everything we can. Looking at every angle, talking to anyone who could hold a grudge.”_ _

__“Yeah. Okay.”_ _

__“Nothing’s gonna happen to him.”_ _

__Sonny huffs out a dark laugh and crosses himself, which earns him another eye roll from Amanda. “Look, I trust you guys. Or, I mean. Rafael does. I just.” Sonny shrugs and, frustrated, yanks his fingers through his hair. He hadn’t remembered to put his usual amount of gel in it this morning, so god only knows that it looks like now._ _

__“Yeah, I get it,” Amanda says, politely ignoring his hair. “But you having a badge and a gun or not makes no difference here, you gotta know that, right?”_ _

__“Maybe, intellectually.” Sonny shrugs. “But it’s. You know. Rafael.” Sonny feels like his heart is wandering around midtown without a bulletproof vest._ _

__“Yeah. I know.” She pats him haphazardly on the hand, and it’s part of her charm, really. All of her affection comes wrapped in a sort of “there-there champ” awkwardness Sonny thought he left behind in little league._ _

__“Were you serious?” Amanda asks after the waiter swings by with their lunch and promptly vanishes again._ _

__“About what?” Sonny asks as he promises himself he’ll only let Frannie have a fourth of his sandwich._ _

__Amanda looks at him like maybe she knows he’s planning to over feed her dog. “About wishing you were a cop again.”_ _

__“Oh.”_ _

__“I mean. Do you miss it?”_ _

__“Uh.” Sonny frowns. “Maybe.”_ _

__“Maybe?”_ _

__“I don’t really let myself think about it,” Sonny admits. In the early days of taking over the bakery he’d practically purged his life of any reminder he was a cop. He went out of his way to avoid talking about it, definitely didn’t keep in touch with anyone from work. Amaro, in his beat cop days, was the first cop Sonny had talked to in ages. It was fine, Nick was a nice guy, he helped out when someone kept parking in the bakery’s loading zone and as thanks Sonny started giving Nick free coffee. Sonny scratches idly at his face and thinks it was a good thing Sonny had talked to Nick, or Nick never would’ve brought Rafael into the bakery that day after Nick made it back up to detective._ _

__“Well, if you had to think about it,” Amanda says, refusing to let the subject go._ _

__“Ah, I guess,” Sonny says. “There were things I could take or leave, you know. But I’d just made Detective before I left and I think. Yeah, I miss that. I miss helping people.” Sonny misses the challenge, too, though that’s a little harder to admit out loud. He misses being able to fit pieces of a puzzle together, getting to read people and situations and feeling confident about knowing what happened and why._ _

__“I bet they’d take you back,” Amanda says, making a show of taking a too-casual sip from her glass of water._ _

__“Yeah?” Sonny tips his head to the side, considering it._ _

__Amanda smirks. “Just saying.”_ _

__*_ _

__After lunch he and Amanda go their separate ways. Sonny idles around town a bit, not in any particular rush to be anywhere. Going back to Staten Island only to come back into Manhattan to see Rafael doesn’t make sense anyway. He gets himself a cup of coffee and sits at someone else’s cafe/bakery. He stares down at the leaf the barista had made in his latte foam and marvels at espresso he didn’t have to make himself while fretting over five different things. It feels like the first time in a long time he actually tastes his coffee instead of hurling it into his mouth like a means to an end._ _

__He goes to the grocery store and it’s weird, but the simple chore feels indulgent. He’s able to linger in aisles and internally debate ingredients. He spends forever picking out tomatoes, because he can. He practically expects the guy behind the butcher’s counter to kick him out for starting a long conversation about free range meat but the guy shares Sonny’s accent and enthusiasm for happy healthy animals (before, you know, turning them into sausage)._ _

__He decides not to look at the price of things, on purpose. If he wants that eggplant, he’s gonna get that eggplant (he does not, because it’s really not in season, but if he _wanted it_ he could get it). He decides to just buy what he needs because he wants to freaking cook for his boyfriend. It’s almost enough to make him breathless again, but he manages to avoid that, mostly because he really doesn’t want to be known as the tall vaguely hipster-y dude passing out in Whole Foods. _ _

__By the time he gets out of the grocery store it’s later, but not late enough for Rafael to be home. Sonny lets himself into Rafael’s place with his key and takes an extra moment to hold it in the palm of his hand and hope he’ll still get to have it after all this._ _

__He makes dessert first, because it’ll need time to firm up in the fridge. By the time that’s all squared away it’s closer to a reasonable hour Rafael might be home by, which means he’ll likely be another hour and it’s okay for Sonny to open the wine and prep for dinner._ _

__Sonny’s not really trying, but he manages to time the whole thing pretty well. Rafael sends him a text when he’s leaving work and Sonny has dinner ready and waiting and is in the middle of doing a quick cleanup of the kitchen when he hears Rafael open the door._ _

__“Hey,” Sonny says and he smiles at Rafael, who just stands by the door, coat on, briefcase in hand, taking in the scene._ _

__“Hello,” Rafael says, finally. “What’s all this?”_ _

__“Dinner.” Sonny gestures towards the fridge. “I made dessert too.”_ _

__Rafael takes a step closer and the grip on his briefcase tightens. “I wasn’t expecting this.” He’s frowning, which isn’t exactly the reaction Sonny was going for. “I hope you didn’t do all this because you thought I was.”_ _

__“What? No.” Sonny flaps his arm in the air dismissing that concern and marches up to Rafael to take his hand firmly in his just in case there was any lingering doubt. “It’s what _I_ wanted.” Sonny shakes his head, laughs. “I actually wanted to cook dinner. For the first time in, like, forever. I actually had the energy to do it. I got to go _food shopping_.” He says it like he’s never seen a grocery store before, like he’d spent the last four years in a remote mountain town and just remembered modern conveniences exist. _ _

__Rafael’s frown has vanished, replaced by a tentative smile, and it’s entirely possible he’s laughing at Sonny a bit, too. “Okay, then.” He shrugs out of his jacket and leaves it and his briefcase by the sofa. “That sounds like...an eventful day.”_ _

__“It was nice,” Sonny says, because it _was_. “It’s how cooking should be, you know?”_ _

__Rafael steps into Sonny’s space and kisses him, hands gentle on his face, mouth tipping up into a smile as they part. “Yeah. I know.” He leans back from Sonny and arches an eyebrow. “What’d you make me.”_ _

__Sonny beams. “Chicken piccata.”_ _

__“I love chicken piccata.”_ _

__“I know. And I happen to make excellent chicken piccata.”_ _

__Rafael laughs and lets Sonny lead him to the kitchen bar where dinner’s set out. “You know, I didn’t realize I missed overly-confident cooking Sonny, but. I did.”_ _

__Sonny makes a _pfft_ noise and says, “What do you mean _overly_ , just try some of this.” He cuts off a piece of chicken piccata and holds it out on a fork for Rafael. _ _

__“I’m not letting you feed me, this is ridiculous--”_ _

__“I made dinner so technically I’m feeding you either way, Counselor.” Sonny sticks his tongue out a little and Rafael just huffs out an annoyed-amused breath and opens his mouth so Sonny can slide the chicken between his lips. Rafael chews and takes care to swallow before nodding at Sonny._ _

__“Alright,” he admits. “That’s chicken you’re an appropriate amount of confident about.”_ _

__“Yeah I am,” Sonny crows and Rafael just rolls his eyes and takes a seat at the bar so he can eat more of the dinner Sonny prepared._ _

__The white wine is a subtle flavor under the lemon, capers, and butter, and the chicken has a deep brown, satisfying crust to it that you only master with time and experience. Sonny pours them both leftover wine to drink along with the dinner and by the time they’re done Rafael has his ankle pressed against Sonny’s under the bar._ _

__“That was very good,” Rafael says, as if cleaning his plate wasn’t enough of a statement._ _

__“Wait til you see dessert,” Sonny says, smirking. He gathers their dinner plates together and sets them in the sink before plucking dessert out of the fridge. He gives it a look over and deems it set enough to present to Rafael and does so without any flourish._ _

__“Tiramisu?” Rafael asks, even though it’s hard to mistake it for anything but._ _

__“It’s one of my favorites,” Sonny says. He hasn’t made it in forever. It wouldn’t make sense to sell at the bakery and so much of his baking energy has been reserved for the bakery, and the bakery alone, for so long. He plucks two forks out of Rafael’s silverware drawer and hands one to Rafael._ _

__“We’re going at this _Golden Girls_ style?” Rafael looks a little dubious._ _

__Sonny laughs. “If we don’t finish it--”_ _

__“ _If_ , he says.”_ _

__“--I’ll bring the leftovers to Teresa and Angie, okay?”_ _

__Rafael hums. “Okay.” He takes a fork full of tiramisu and Sonny watches as Rafael lets the dessert’s soft espresso-soaked ladyfingers dissolve on his tongue amidst sweetened mascarpone cream. Rafael laughs a little after he swallows and points his fork at the dessert. “This is. Unjustly good.”_ _

__“Unjust?”_ _

__“Unjust.”_ _

__“Well, must be true if you’re saying it,” Sonny says and he feels himself flush with happiness and takes a fork full of tiramisu for himself. It’s a beautiful thing, truly, the blend of the sweet whipped cheese and the espresso and lady fingers. “I missed this,” he says._ _

__“Tiramisu?”_ _

__“Cooking. Baking. Enjoying it.” Sonny shrugs and shoves more tiramisu in his mouth as he watches Rafael nod, slowly absorbing what Sonny is saying. Sonny swallows and thinks about going back to work at the bakery, as busy as ever. He thinks about not being able to do this, cook for Rafael, maybe not even see Rafael. Sonny feels his mouthful of dessert suddenly turn cloyingly sweet and he swallows it down with a long sip of wine from dinner. He puts his fork aside and Rafael watches him closely._ _

__“You alright?” Rafael asks._ _

__“Yeah.” Sonny clears his throat and nods. “I, uh. I’m gonna give the bakery to Tommy and Bella.”_ _

__Rafael’s eyes widen slightly. “What?”_ _

__It's an idea he had this morning and it makes even more sense now that he's said it out loud. “I’m going to give the bakery to Tommy and Bella,” he says, again, more sure of it than ever. “Tommy’s been doing okay learning how to bake everything and Bella, she grew up in that bakery, she knows her stuff, you know? They can run it together.”_ _

__“And what will you do?”_ _

__Sonny laughs a little. “I dunno. Go back to law school, maybe? Or, uh. I might want to be a cop again.” He thinks about his conversation with Amanda, how he only got to enjoy clipping that detective’s shield to his belt for a short time before he had to give it up._ _

__“Okay,” Rafael says slowly and he puts down his own fork. “That’s. Well.”_ _

__“Are you. I mean.” Sonny doesn’t want to ask if Rafael’s okay with this plan, because it’s really not something that gets to be Rafael’s call. That said, he still sort of wants Rafael to be okay with this plan. “I think it could be good. For me. For us.”_ _

__“And this is what _you_ want to do?” Rafael crosses his arms over his chest and he gets a bit of what Sonny assumes is his cross-examination face. “You’re not doing this for me, or for your sisters, this is what you, Sonny Carisi, want to do.”_ _

__Sonny feels suddenly drunk on the idea that it could happen and he laughs a little. “Uh, yeah. Yeah, this is all me. Wanting this.” He gestures to the space that separates them. “Wanting us.”_ _

__At that, Rafael slumps down in relief and quickly brings his hand up to take hold of Sonny’s. He looks like he’s going to say something for a moment but then just shakes his head, staring at their clasped hands._ _

__“You were worried?” Sonny asks._ _

__“Yes,” Rafael says emphatically and Sonny lets Rafael tug him around the bar and into Rafael’s space. Rafael presses his face against Sonny’s chest and heaves out an exhausted sigh that has Sonny murmuring soft noises and bringing his hands up to pet at Rafael’s hair. “I try not to let myself want things,” he says in a tone weighed down by years of disappointment. He looks up at Sonny and takes a slow, cautious breathe in. “But I want you.”_ _

__Sonny thinks that’s something maybe the two of them know too well, how simple and complicated voicing a desire like that is. Feeling himself shaking off the constraints, realizing just how much of his misery was self-inflicted, Sonny feels light-headed, joyful._ _

__“Raf,” Sonny huffs out, tipping his head down as Rafael tilts his up. He looks into Rafael’s eyes and can’t stop the light laugh from bubbling out of him. “I want you, too.”_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 4 Scooch is Italian American slang meaning pest, it's a shortened version of scocciamento which basically means "pain in the ass" funny story this was my sister's nickname growing up and none of us knew what it really meant til we were, like 20, thanks Ma  
> 5 stunad is Italian American slang meaning stupid, bastardized version of the Italian stonato, which means the same thing
> 
> ...basically all Italian American slang is "here's some Italian we put through a meat grinder, good luck tracing this back to any actual proper Italian, lolz"


	5. Epilogue (Rafael & Sonny)

Rafael is still adjusting to being awake and someone is singing at him--this should be illegal. He holds his coffee mug in front of his face and gives Sonny a look that is hopefully conveying just how much Rafael disapproves of this. Sonny continues to sing, so maybe Rafael’s glares have lost their edge. Or Sonny’s developed a tolerance, either seems likely. 

“Happy birthday to you,” Sonny finishes and he delivers, with a flourish, a cupcake, to the counter in front of Rafael. It’s a dark cupcake with yellow icing, almost identical to the one Sonny gave him ages ago, before they were officially a them. “Make a wish before the candle drips all over your frosting.”

Rafael rolls his eyes, licks his fingers and puts the small flame out with a pinch of his index finger and thumb. “Done,” he says cheerfully and goes back to drinking his coffee. 

Sonny heaves out a sigh. “It should be a crime to be a killjoy on your own birthday.”

“I’m a killjoy before coffee, I have literally always been like this,” Rafael says, because it’s true and Sonny should really know this by now.

“Which is why I also got you a cuban when I went downstairs to get the cupcake,” Sonny says and he plunks a paper cup down next to said cupcake. 

Rafael tries not to immediately lunge for the cup but he probably fails, just a little. “Tommy and Bella didn’t kick you out of their bakery?”

Sonny snorts, offended. “I have squatter’s rights. Or, like. Original owner’s rights. Or something. To the espresso machine, at least.” 

“I mean, if you making me coffee from the downstairs machine is going to become a theme to staying over at your place, I’m not going to complain,” Rafael says and he takes a deep breath of coffee-scented air before diving into his cuban. 

“I knew you liked it here,” Sonny says, grinning. 

“Yes, well.” Rafael trails off and just rolls his eyes. He hadn’t exactly been hiding it very well. Shortly after Sonny signed the bakery over to Tommy and Bella, he’d asked the tenant upstairs to leave and claimed the top two floors of the building as his home. Rafael loves his apartment, he does, but Sonny’s place is bigger and, though it still needs work, it has serious potential. Sonny’s been making more and more noise about putting a garden up on the roof and gutting the kitchen and he’s so excited about it Rafael can’t not feel a bit of that himself. 

“Technically they’re my tenants,” Sonny says about Tommy and Bella and the bakery downstairs. When Sonny had signed over the bakery, he’d kept ownership over the building. It allowed him to keep a piece of what had been his father’s while letting go of the day-to-day of the business. “So I guess I should’ve given them 24 hours notice before I let myself into the bakery to use their espresso machine.”

“Booyah, Fordham Law,” Rafael says, smirking. 

“Yeah remind me not to mention the fact that I didn’t to my contracts professor,” Sonny says with a snort. 

Rafael hums consideringly. “Who teaches that? I’m sure, in the best interest of the future of the New York Bar--”

“Okay, ha, ha,” Sonny says flatly and he scoops up his briefcase and his jacket from one of the nearby kitchen chairs. He walks back to stand in front of Rafael, an awkward and apologetic look on his face. “Sorry we can’t do your birthday dinner tonight.”

Rafael looks very unimpressed. “You have to drive upstate to interview a suspect about a serial rapist, you have a good excuse.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Sonny says. “Still.”

“Just try and get Speed Racer to calm down a bit, I’d like it if you came back in one piece.”

“I’m definitely telling her you called her that.” Sonny then seems to remember he’s the one who has to drive upstate with Amanda and her lead foot and he winces. “Maybe I’ll drive.”

Rafael snorts. “Yeah, okay.”

Sonny sighs and then is quickly back to the subject of Rafael’s birthday. “I feel bad we can’t go out tomorrow, either, is the thing--”

“If we ever want your mother to like me, I know better than to disrupt Sunday dinner,” Rafael says dryly. Privately he has concerns about whether or not Sonny’s mother will ever come around to his presence in Sonny’s life. She had not been happy when Sonny announced he was stepping away from the bakery and moving out. Rafael provided a neat target for her to direct a large amount of her anger towards.

“She’s been a little better lately,” Sonny says. “Since she started seeing that new therapist and everything.”

“Yeah?”

“Well, she calls you by your name now, instead of ‘that man’,” Sonny says, face pulling in a way that says he knows it’s not much, but it’s a start. 

“In another year she might let me in the house,” Rafael snarks. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Sonny says begrudgingly, because Rafael isn’t wrong. He leans forward and kisses Rafael, a long overdue ‘good morning’ peck. “Monday, though. I have off. We’re getting dinner. At that nice Korean place in the village you wanted to check out.”

Rafael, pleasantly surprised, smiles. “You got reservations? That place is supposed to be booked for months.”

“For you, I made things happen,” Sonny says and Rafael tugs him in by his belt for a much longer kiss that could easily slide into some over-the-suit groping if not for a loud emphatic honk from outside. 

“Rollins has impeccable timing, as ever,” Rafael grumbles and Sonny huffs out a laugh against Rafael’s mouth. 

“Yeah, I better get going.” He takes a step back from Rafael, looking very much like it’s the last thing he wants to be doing. He picks up the cupcake again and holds it out towards Rafael. “Happy Birthday, Counselor.” 

Rafael reaches out and takes the cupcake, shaking his head at this man and this life and loving both so much. “Thank you, Detective.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOLY CRAP IT'S DONE. Thanks for reading this...thing. Gosh. Appreciate it so much. :)


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